H λ L F – L I F E: Bishop's War
by Obsidian Productions
Summary: Eric Bishop has been working at Black Mesa for just over two years now. Though he is well paid and has good job security, Eric finds himself wondering if he could be doing more with his life. Then, everything changes when an experiment goes wrong and interdimensional monsters begin to invade Black Mesa, killing all in their path.
1. CHλPTER 01: A Break In Routine

_**P**_ _ ** **λ** RT ONE  
**–EMERGENCY–_

* * *

 _ **Subject:**_ _Eric Bishop  
 **Education:**_ _Belton High School  
 **Assignment:**_ _Security  
 **Clearance:**_ _Level 2_

 _ **Disaster Response Priority**_

 _ **High:**_ _Preservation of equipment/materials  
 **Secondary:**_ _Welfare of research personnel  
 **Low:**_ _Personal safety_

* * *

Eric Bishop opened his eyes and found himself staring at glowering red numerals in a field of darkness. They proclaimed: **6:59 AM**. He laid there on his side and found a thought sailing to him through the lethargic, mostly calm seas of his mind. Was this habit or bad luck? It seemed all too often that he awoke just before his alarm was set to go off, and even on his off-days he couldn't seem to sleep in past 8 A.M.

The alarm ticked over to 7:00 AM and Creepin' by Chamillionaire kicked on. As far as wake-up calls went, it was a pretty decent one. Eric rubbed sleep from his eyes and sat up, pulling the blankets back. He yawned and stretched, feeling his shoulders pop, and then rose to his feet. It was time to start another day some fifty or sixty feet below ground in the middle of the New Mexico desert. He spent ten minutes doing sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups on the bar he had set up in his closet door, getting his blood pumping and helping kick the lethargy from his system, then he pulled a fresh uniform from his dresser and moved into the bathroom.

His motions came to him with a machine-like autonomy by now. Eric set the clothes down on the counter, flipped on the lights, then took a piss. He flushed, transferred the clothes to the closed toilet lid, then brushed his teeth and looked at himself in the mirror. Not the best idea. He'd never been convinced that he was anything above average, even on his better days, but mostly that didn't concern him any longer. Being as fit as he was, which was very after several years in the Marine Corps, tended to help with getting dates.

Although it was a bit harder nowadays, what with living underground and being mostly around other guys. Most of the women were scientists for whatever reason. He kept wishing they'd hire more female guards, or at least female technicians, because he'd certainly come across enough badass ladies in the Marines and just in general, before and after, but that just didn't seem to be happening. No, what was bugging him was that he was so damned pale. He looked unhealthy now. And like he'd lost a little bit of weight, and his eyes were darker.

He was still getting about the same amount of sleep as always, but…

There was a vague, nebulous aura of anxiety that seemed to hang around him nowadays. He finished brushing, rinsed and spat, sighed, then got into a hot shower. No time for whining, even inside own head. He had a schedule to keep. Eric washed up and considered whether or not to shave today, then finally decided against it. It'd give him a little more time at breakfast, and honestly he liked the way he looked with a stain of dark stubble across his face. Honestly, it was tempting to just buzz his head and be done with it. His dark hair was short enough as it was. He finished washing up, dried, and dressed.

Stepping out of his mislabeled apartment, (really, that was pushing it, dorm was closer, given how small it was), into the bright white lights of the corridor, he checked his watch and found that he had forty minutes to clock in. More than enough time. He moved briskly down the corridor, coming to a T-junction. He paused and stared wistfully through the open doors directly ahead of him. Here was the rec room for the security guard apartment block. It had been a little project of his, something he'd slowly pieced together over the past two years, and something he was very proud of, because no one really realized it was his influence.

Eric couldn't really afford to rock the boat.

What had once been a room with a pool table, a few couches, and an old Area 51 arcade cabinet, (granted, that was awesome), now sported a big-screen HDTV that had an Xbox 360 and a PS3 hooked up to it, both with (limited) internet access and a library of games. He'd been following the Halo franchise since the first game smashed the gaming world to pieces with its impact eight years ago, and had no intention of missing out on the newest games. As a result, he now had regular access to Halo 3 and ODST multiplayer.

Right now the place was dead, not a soul in it, but on most nights, and especially on the weekends, it was very alive with activity. He looked away from it, off to the right corridor, with a different kind of wistfulness at the gym they had set up there. His morning workouts were nothing compared to what he could really manage in there, but that would have to wait until he got off duty. Eric turned on his heel and kept on marching towards the din of conversation that spilled out of the mess hall. He hesitated as he reached the threshold.

There were twice as many people as normal in here.

The whole apartment block must be up, he realized. Or damn near. Jeez, was anyone here pulling a double? What a nightmare that would be. What was going on that they suddenly needed so many warm bodies holding guns? Even as he felt annoyance settle over him like an irritating blanket, he _did_ feel a pulse of excitement beneath it. Eric quickly crossed the room and got in line. Clearly something was up, and given the fact that he worked security at a top secret government research facility, that could mean basically anything.

Although, he thought glumly as he began gathering up his breakfast, it probably just meant that some suits were flying in to check the place out and the brass up top wanted the place to look shipshape and bustling with activity. Maybe a Senator or, hell, even a freaking corporate investor. He wouldn't be surprised. The corporations were so in bed with the government that they may as well just make it official and announce the marriage. Eric grabbed himself some biscuits and gravy, hashbrowns, over-easy eggs, and a glass of milk. Holding his tray, feeling oddly like a freaking awkward middle schooler in a cafeteria again, he searched the sea of faces for his friends. God, if there was one thing about being an adult that was better than all other things, it was that he never had to put up with school again for the rest of his life.

That alone made being a grownup worth it.

He finally saw Robbie and Paul off in one of the corner tables and hurried across the room. They were talking animatedly about something.

"What's happening?" he asked as he sat down and started eating.

"No idea," Robbie replied, glancing at the dozens of others in the mess, "don't really care, either. Listen: I finally got it in. Modern Warfare 2 _finally_ is here."

"And I managed to get my hands on some booze," Paul said. "So beer, nachos, and Modern Warfare 2 all goddamned weekend is _on._ "

"That _is_ something to look forward to," Eric replied, and he was indeed looking forward to it, but now that it had something to latch onto, something with some potential substance, his mind was focused elsewhere. "So you've got no idea why they're calling everyone in?"

"I doubt it's for anything interesting," Robbie replied.

"Maybe one of their experiments got out," Paul said, and Robbie sighed.

Eric wanted to join him, but in a way, he admired the fact that Paul kept the flame of hope alive after so long. He'd been here longer than Eric. Working in a place like this meant that there was a strong, persistent rumor mill. Especially among those who weren't privy to the inner workings of the complex.

Namely, security guards.

There was a new conspiracy theory about what it was they were actually doing here roughly every week. There were certainly old favorites: they were screwing around with cloning, they were making deals with aliens, they were working on teleportation technology. That was a very old favorite. Of course the scientists were tight-lipped and speculation was definitely deincentivized. Eric had his own theories, and they'd been wilder in the beginning, but now? Well, in his experience, the answers to life's questions tended to be boring.

They were probably doing research on new weapons, new medical breakthroughs, new airplanes maybe. Nothing paranormal, nothing extraterrestrial, nothing insane. But clearly _something_ was up today. There was an energy on the air. He listened to his two friends chat about the upcoming weekend, throwing in here and there, because he was actually looking forward to that, but mostly stayed in his own mind.

Robbie and Paul represented something depressing and vaguely interesting about his life now. He got along with them well enough, he liked them, he sure enjoyed playing games with them and catching the occasional football game, (he didn't really care about sports but the social atmosphere could be nice), and they were great to shoot the breeze with if they happened to be working in close proximity to each other.

Almost all the people he knew here at Black Mesa were like that.

But he hadn't actually connected with anyone since coming here. In two years, that seemed unlikely. The closest he'd gotten to connecting with someone had been the three women he'd managed to sleep with since coming here. The first had been an understood one night stand, and he hadn't ever seen her since. The other two had been somewhat longer affairs, the second one lasting close to six months in something like a relationship. Her name had been Melanie and she was a technician, a genius and beautiful blonde who had a nervous tic, loved roleplaying games, and had a collection of mini figures that she liked to paint.

He thought they might have something, but she'd had to leave for a family emergency abruptly and had apparently never returned. He'd eventually found out that she took another job on the east coast to be closer to her father, who had gotten cancer. They'd e-mailed a few times, but that had quickly fallen off and he was left alone again.

Was it just the atmosphere of this place that made true connections impossible, or was it something wrong in him? Or were true connections a myth? He remembered having good friends, _best_ friends in elementary school, all the way up through high school. He remembered _getting_ them, and feeling like they got him, they understood. They shared real secrets, they spent a lot of time together, there was an unspoken understanding.

But that felt like another lifetime now.

He was twenty seven years old. High school wasn't even a decade old, but it felt like a million years ago, the memories faded like old dreams. Eric checked his watch. Ten minutes before he had to be in.

"Damn, I gotta go," he said, quickly finishing his meal.

"You'll be there tomorrow?" Paul asked.

"I'll be there," he confirmed. "Just make sure you save me a damned space this time."

"Don't worry, you get there, you'll have a space," Robbie replied.

"Later, guys."

He left the mess.

* * *

If you wanted to get anywhere in Black Mesa, chances were you were going to have to spend some real time on a tram.

Half of the gigantic place seemed to be dedicated to enormous lengths of tunnels that supported trams, going to and from freaking everywhere. Eric left the mess hall after clearing his plate and putting his dishes away on the conveyor belt, then jogged to the tram station. He was in luck: an empty one was waiting for him. He moved swiftly down the mesh-metal walkway that always made him nervous, (it hung over a seemingly bottomless black abyss), and stepped aboard. As soon as he was on, he made sure it was going to where he needed to go, then sat down and waited. The thing began moving with a loud hum.

" _Good morning, and welcome to the Black Mesa Transit System..."_

He sighed and tuned out the automated greeting. It was going to rattle on for another five minutes at least. It always did. Instead, he wasted some time worrying. What else was there to do on these stupid rides? He'd prefer to walk to where he needed to go, at least then it was being somewhat active. Eric had just passed the two year mark for his tenure at Black Mesa last week. He hadn't told anyone, and the most anyone knew about it was a probably automated message that landed in his company email that existed solely on the internal network congratulating him on two years of service, and informing him that he would be undergoing a performance review next month to evaluate him and determine if he could get a raise.

He knew a promotion was out of the question. Besides the fact that security guards had to work a minimum of five years before getting a shot at being kicked up the ladder, he knew that he was here under unusual circumstances. Being a dishonorably discharged Marine normally meant that the government wouldn't let you within a hundred miles of a top secret research facility, let alone allow you to work security. But he had a friend in the right place at the right time, and anyone with a brain who glanced at his record could tell that he hadn't been discharged for a good reason. Merely a political one.

But he didn't want to think about that. That wasn't what was bothering him, at least not in the immediate sense. He still had nightmares sometimes and the memories and the 'what ifs?' would occasionally keep him up at night, but a new slow dread had infected him over the past few weeks. It was a question.

Where was he going with his life?

It was a question that a twenty seven year old probably shouldn't be asking. He had the idea that most of them knew by now, or didn't care yet. He supposed it could be called a quarter life crisis. He would have been happy to stay in the Marines until he hit middle age, but that was out of the question now. He'd tossed around the idea of being a cop, but something about it just didn't sit right with him. Working security out in the middle of nowhere for some reason made slightly more sense, but mainly he'd taken it because he felt like he needed to do _something_. And this was certainly a Job with a capital J. Or so it had seemed at the time.

As the tram hummed along its track, moving across black chasms and alongside rock walls, broken occasionally by signs of human life, Eric tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. At twenty seven, he'd accomplished quite a bit. Although he was no longer in the best shape of his life, he was still in pretty decent shape, healthy, fit. He didn't have any debt at all. No credit card, no medical, no educational, nothing. Although he didn't own his own car or house, he really didn't need to. His bank account was getting fairly fat. He had close to fifteen thousand dollars between his checking and savings accounts, mainly because there just wasn't a lot to spend money on at Black Mesa. He would have more but he'd been helping out the only two people left in his life who really meant anything to him: his mother and his sister, since he got his feet back under him. His family had never been particularly good with money, and the fact that he had a savings account, let alone one with thousands of dollars in it, still sometimes seemed mythological to him.

He had a steady job that he was good at and took seriously, and he would probably get at least a small raise at his yearly evaluation. He'd been glad to learn that the people above him, for the most part, didn't quite care so much about how it looked having him on staff, and were more concerned with how he actually did his job. And he did it well. In the few times when there'd been an emergency, (always some kind of accident relating to power blowouts, medical emergencies, or someone getting trapped in a dangerous spot, never anything involving guys with guns), he'd kept his head and saved a few lives.

So why was he so worried?

Maybe because this job didn't exactly resemble his own ideas of what it meant to contribute meaningfully to society, to make some kind of an impact, to _do something_ with your life. Suddenly, the tram's litany cut off.

" _We're sorry, but this tram must be rerouted, and will delay your destination arrival by approximately...eight minutes."_

"Oh come on," Eric groaned, checking his watch. That would put him five minutes over the line. He doubted anyone would seriously give him crap for it, stuff like this did happen from time to time, but he'd been eager to get to work. Maybe to help him feel, at least in some small way, that he was doing something worthwhile.

The tram broke off of its original course and began moving through a waste disposal area. Eric sighed but sat up and looked around. It was at least a change in scenery. Although not really a positive one. Now he got to see rusted out walls and pass over canals of dirty water. As he was studying this new environment, (and maybe secretly hunting for something unusual, maybe some experiment gotten out), his tram suddenly came to a halt.

"What now?" Eric muttered.

He'd come to a crossroads, where another track intersected with his own. As he waited, he heard another tram humming along, coming from another part of the facility. It sailed into view, carrying a single occupant.

A man in an immaculate and pressed gray-blue suit carrying an obsidian briefcase stood in the tram. He was already facing Eric, almost as if he'd known he'd be there, and was staring directly at him. The man was a little gaunt, his face sporting the pale pallor of someone who spent a lot of time indoors. He had short black hair and blue eyes that almost seemed like they were lit from within. The whole world seemed to drain away as they locked eyes. He had to be some kind of government agent, but there was something about him…

Something immense. Something powerful.

Something horrifying.

The man's lips twitched in the approximation of a smile and he reached up, gently adjusting his black tie.

Then he was gone, sailing out of sight deeper into the complex, and Eric's own tram resumed its journey. He let out his breath all at once as he realized he'd been holding it.

"What the hell was _that?_ " he whispered harshly, peering into the dark tunnel that the other man's tram had disappeared into as his own passed it.

But there was only darkness.

Eric shuddered involuntarily and faced forward again. Well, at least that had kicked his head out of the bad place it'd been. Now he was just unnerved for a completely different reason. Government and exec types alternately disgusted and unsettled him, but that was just...he had the distinct impression that he was looking at something…

Not fully human.

But that was ridiculous. Then again, he was at least partially convinced that high-up executives and CEOs weren't fully human in the way that people said that lawyers were bloodsuckers. Gaining that level of power seemed to take a certain level of cold, calculating inhumanity, and it seemed that more often than not they grew into sociopathic tendencies. Well, at least Eric knew that he'd never really stop caring about people.

It was why he chose the field he'd chosen: to help people.

He began tapping his foot as the unease of the previous encounter began to wear off and his impatience returned.

* * *

"Bishop! Here! Now!"

Eric stopped looking around the crowded lobby of the Security Headquarters and settled his gaze on his immediate superior, Captain Martin, who stood behind the main desk overseeing the trio of baggy-eyed, overworked security officers maintaining the computers there. He'd intended to navigate the two dozen or so others who were moving around the main area and get right to the locker room to grab his armor, but Martin was using his 'do what I said and right now goddamnit' voice reserved for tense situations.

So he moved swiftly across the sea of shifting bodies and came to stand before the desk. "Sorry I'm late. The tram rerouted-" Eric began, but Martin waved his words away.

"Don't care," he said, distracted, glancing over one man's shoulder at a computer screen. "Get Philips and Johnson there pronto," he said quietly to the man, who nodded tightly and grabbed a radio, then began speaking quickly into it.

"What's going on?" Eric asked.

"No idea, but the brains are all jumpy over something. We've had a ton of system failures today. The techs are so overworked that they're having us pull tech duty. Which is why I need you, Bishop. Go get back on that tram and take it Storage Area Seven B. There's a power shortage happening somewhere in that sector and I need you to find it. The brains are screaming at us to get it fixed five minutes ago. You've got that training and a sharp eye, so go find it and fix it."

"I need to grab my radio first-" Eric began, but Martin shook his head sharply.

"No, go now. I mean right now. Come back after it's done and you can gear up."

"You got it," he replied, realizing that there was no arguing with the man, he was hassled and harried enough as it was.

"Thanks, Bishop."

Eric nodded, about faced, and headed right back to the tram station.


	2. CHλPTER 02: Zero Hour

Back on the tram again.

Though this time around, Eric felt distinctly uncomfortable. He at least knew why: his routine, which had been set practically in stone after two long years of same crap, different day, had been broken very suddenly. He was sure this had happened before, but he couldn't remember when. Certainly not within the past few months, probably not within the last year. Maybe it hadn't happened before.

He was missing things that were important to him: his armor, his sidearm, his radio. Two magazines of nine millimeter ammo. (Two spares was the most they allowed him to carry.) He kept clenching and releasing his fists, anxious and vaguely upset. He supposed it was because he'd spent so long carrying a weapon that being without one felt wrong. Not that he'd actually had to use one outside of a combat situation. He'd never been mugged, never encountered some lunatic with a gun, nothing like that.

But being prepared for such an eventuality felt right to him. Or maybe just being unarmed made him feel vulnerable, and he hated that feeling. So, to help calm himself, he began going over the steps in his mind. Once the tram finally got to where it was going, he'd get out and hunt down a toolkit. They were placed at fairly regular intervals, although if the person in question had remembered to return them, or if anyone had checked them to see that all the tools and spare parts were there was a complete coin flip.

From there, he'd track down the problematic power short. It should be pretty easy. Stuff in Black Mesa was old and, as a result, a bit showy. In other words: when stuff broke, it tended to spark and crackle, making it quite easy to find. Doubly so if it was related to power. The mad scientists running this place were always doing too much with too little, putting a strain on the various systems that helped keep the research complex running. It was why they employed a small army of technicians and engineers.

This wasn't the first time he'd been tapped to make repairs by a long shot. It probably happened twice a month on average. He'd put on his resume that he had some basic technical knowledge to try and stack the deck in his favor as much as possible. He wasn't lying, but he didn't realize that it meant he'd be sent off into dark, decrepit maintenance tunnels and ancient storerooms that no one had been in for a decade.

But of course he should have seen that coming.

A basic rule of capitalism: people will attempted to squeeze the absolute maximum amount of work out of you while investing the absolute minimum of resources into you. Although really that was just a basic rule of the human condition it seemed. It was probably why he'd make a terrible boss: he didn't have that lack of empathy required to slave-drive people. He sighed. All these unhappy thoughts. Why couldn't he be a regular twenty-something and _not_ be having an existential crisis? Or was that normal and he just didn't know it?

The tram grinded slowly to a halt, mercifully jarring him from his thoughts and forcing him to act. Action typically helped soothe his frayed nerves. He got up and stepped off the tram, onto another one of those mesh-metal platforms he was so familiar with by now. Marching across it, he stepped over the threshold and through a doorway cut into a concrete wall. Here he came to an antechamber with concrete tunnels snaking away from it in three directions. There was a small maintenance closet tucked away into the right corner, between the front wall and the tunnel there, and he opened up the door and slipped inside.

He flicked on the lights.

It was a cramped room, packed with shelves stuffed with random things. There was an old ladder at the back and he found himself curious about where it led. Moving forward, he came to stand before the ladder and peered up into the hole it disappeared into. Here was a tunnel carved in the concrete, ascending and quickly giving way to darkness. A little frustrated, he hunted around for a moment and found a flashlight (and the toolkit he'd need) attached to the wall, snagged it and returned to the hole. He turned it on and looked back up.

The tunnel ascended even higher than the flashlight's beam could reach. Probably just some kind of emergency ladder. It looked like it hadn't been used in years. Returning to the toolkit, Eric turned off the flashlight and slipped it into his pocket, then grabbed the little orange kit, which was basically like a small briefcase, and cracked it open. It was packed with tools and parts, and he found that he would more than likely be able to deal with whatever the situation was with what was in the kit. Snapping it closed, he returned to the antechamber.

Eric stood in the exact center of the chamber and listened. For a few seconds, he heard nothing but the very subtle hum of power. It was creepy how freaking quiet it was down here. How far away was he from the nearest person? Not something he wanted to think about. Finally, he heard it: a faint _pop!_ Had to be the short. Gripping the kit a little more tightly, Eric broke left and began moving at a brisk pace, very eager to be out of this place. The sooner he could get back to HQ, the sooner he could get his gear and then get to work.

Even if work meant patrolling corridors uselessly for eight hours.

Would freaking _anyone_ mount an assault on Black Mesa?

Eric's boots echoed long and lonely down the concrete passageway as he tried to hone in on the source of the problem. As he hunted, his mind wandered again. It seemed to be doing that a lot lately. But it was harder and harder to reign it in. A question he kept coming back to was: what did he care about? The answer he always gave himself was: helping people. The problem he was coming up against, he supposed, was that as time wore on, he found it hard to label this job as one that helped people in any real, direct way.

When he'd taken it, he'd been kind of desperate for money. And maybe he'd rationalized a little bit too much to himself when he read over the job description. He supposed he had thought that he'd be doing a bit more. But what could he really have expected to be doing, out here in the middle of a desert? Honestly, even though he knew his current boss from back when they served together over in Iraq, and Martin had promised to put in a good word for him, try to get some strings pulled, he'd never really believed he would get this job.

Eric stopped at every door he could find, poking his head into each. Mostly they were storage rooms, packed with crates covered in dust. Some of this stuff looked like it had been here for decades. Heck, it probably had been. No short yet. All this mental dillydallying was really just dancing around the issue, something that Eric usually didn't do. He _did_ things, he got stuff done, got it out of the way. Because waiting sucked.

He knew that at the dark heart of this miserable existential mess was a question: did he have the guts to quit Black Mesa and look for something more meaningful? Because the idea was scary. This was a life he'd definitely grown accustomed to. He was making money, he was doing a job that wasn't particularly demanding, he probably had pretty decent job security. Plus, although he hadn't had a fantastic track record in the dating department, he had seen at least _some_ success. Probably the most interesting relationship he'd had so far was one that started about a year ago and lasted for about a month with a scientist a few years older than him named Gina. She'd been...very logical about the whole thing.

Honestly, it was still kind of weird to think about, but not in a bad way.

She'd approached him kind of out of the blue. He'd seen her around a few times: when he was eating at somewhere besides the mess hall, as they had actual restaurants around Black Mesa, a few times during a shift in one of the labs he pulled she'd come through, (he didn't think she worked in that particular lab, just that she visited sometimes), and once she'd been on a panel of people watching him perform a hazard course.

He still didn't know what that was all about, hazard courses were kind of weird.

But she'd simply come to his apartment, asked to come in, and then had, in a pretty calm and rational way, laid it out for him. She wanted a sexual partner, she found him attractive, she didn't want a serious commitment, and she trusted him to be discreet about it. She was very attractive in her own way, and so he'd pretty much said yes immediately.

It had been...very good with her.

It had gone on maybe a few times a week for a month, and then she had apologized and said that she would need to cut their affair off, as her work was becoming more demanding. And he hadn't really seen her since then.

He hadn't told a single person about what had gone on between them, although a few people had noticed her coming and going from his dorm.

"There you are," Eric whispered as he peered into yet another room about halfway down the large, concrete tunnel he'd been traversing. It was some kind of control area that had been largely used for, surprise surprise, storage. He wasn't sure what the dials and switches on the wall were meant to control, but he did recognize the fusebox next to it all. Even as he looked at it, the thing spat another slew of blue-white sparks.

Okay, he could probably fix this. Eric crossed the room, found the killswitch for the box, and hit it. There was a soft hum as the power running through it died. Opening up the panel, he immediately saw the problem: some of the wiring had shorted out. Yeah, he could definitely fix this. He set the toolkit on a crate beside him, opened it up and set in. While he worked at replacing the wiring, he kept on thinking.

What else could he do besides Black Mesa?

Military work was obviously out...but what about PMCs? Private Military Contractors. There was a lot of bad news surrounding them, but surely they couldn't be all bad. Hell, maybe he'd just head to some wartorn part of the world (there were surely enough of those), and help out those that needed helping. It was a crazy idea, but an oddly appealing one. But...hell, that steady paycheck really was giving him the ability to help out his family. They were still in a...not a bad place, per say, but definitely not what he'd call a good one.

Too many things to consider, too many things to think about to make any kind of a decision right now. Eric knew he'd have to let the whole thing stew for awhile longer, saturating his brain, before he could come to any real decision.

Finally, he finished the job. Putting the power back into it, a fresh hum sounded as energy reentered the fusebox. And it worked. Excellent. Feeling a clear sense of relief, Eric closed the panel, replaced the tools in the kit, snapped it closed and turned around. Now, to get back to HQ and really get to work. He stepped back out into the big concrete tunnel and then hesitated. Something was wrong. He had no idea what or why or even how he knew that, but he did. He knew it as simply as he knew his own name.

Danger was near.

Eric looked behind him, then ahead of him again, searching the immediate area for the threat. He hadn't heard anything, hadn't smelled anything. He hadn't even seen something. It was just...a feeling. It was like invisible pressure on the air. His heart was starting to beat faster in his chest, his breath was coming quicker, his muscles tensing, blood pumping. It felt like when he was stepping onto a battlefield, just before the fight began.

And that was when the entire area began to shake.

It was subtle at first, but quickly began to intensify. Dust and debris stared to drift down from the ceiling, and a crack appeared in the wall beside him. Eric took off, sprinting down the corridor, back to the antechamber. This whole place could cave in on him, possibly killing or trapping him. And this was a bad place to die.

But before he could make it a half dozen steps, a massive piece of concrete fell from the ceiling and smashed into the floor barely a foot in front of him. He skidded to a halt and began to change his trajectory, but then more concrete started to fall, blocking the way. Eric spun around and began sprinting in the opposite direction.

Something smashed the back of his head and he pitched forward.

Darkness consumed him instantly.


	3. CHλPTER 03: Aftermath

The first thing that came to Eric as he was unceremoniously thrust back onto the shores of consciousness was that his head _hurt_.

It ached and throbbed, like someone had taken a baseball bat to him.

He tasted blood. Groaning, blinking his eyes a few times, he tried to move, realizing that he was lying on a very hard surface. What the hell had he done this time? Something big shifted somewhere nearby, and he heard the clacking of rock hitting rock, like it was bouncing down a trail or the side of a mountain.

And that…

Brought back his situation in a flash. Eric forced himself up into a sitting position and looked around, wincing at the flickering lights. He was in the tunnel, and it had caved in, but not completely. Just enough so that he couldn't get out the way he'd come in. He sat there, collecting his thoughts and staring at the cave-in for a few minutes, waiting for the pain to subside to something a bit more tolerable, and finally began the miserable process of getting to his feet. His whole body hurt, and his forehead burned from where he was sure he'd scraped it bad going down. Obviously, he surmised as he got shakily to his feet, a rock had hit him.

How long had he been out?

He didn't think terribly long, surely no more than an hour, but it was impossible to tell. As Eric stood there, staring at the pile of cracked, ruined concrete, he reached for his belt, where his radio would normally sit. It wasn't there, of course. Neither was his gun. And his helmet would have really helped him out. He reached up and tentatively probed the back of his head. He cried out as a bolt of pure pain shot across his head.

His hand came back sticky with blood, but it didn't feel like it was bleeding anymore…

At that thought he glanced down, and his frown deepened as he saw a small pool of slowly drying blood. No medical kit, either. He might need stitches. Damn. Eric knew that he wasn't going to be able to get out this way. That much was made clear. He looked back down the corridor, the way yet gone, and saw a lot of flickering lights. Some were outright dead. With a sigh, he began walking slowly. He felt a little unsteady and everything ached, but he'd had worse damage before. He'd been shot twice. This was a vacation compared to that.

What had happened?

Although he was still a little slow and fuzzy from the injury, Eric's mind quickly became abuzz with possibilities. Was it an earthquake? Did they have earthquakes in New Mexico? He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think so. Maybe it was something massive. He felt his stomach clench coldly as he thought about the possibilities. What if a comet had hit somewhere? Or what if Yellowstone had finally blown its top?

They'd said that when it did happen, it probably would be able to be felt hundreds, even thousands, of miles away. He was as scared of the end of the world as the next guy. "Please," he whispered as he reached the end of the hallway and took the only way available to him, a right turn, "please let it not be the goddamned apocalypse."

He had no idea who he was talking to, but he felt the need to say _something_ out loud. It was way too quiet. Maybe it had been some kind of experiment gone wrong? Maybe they were building new bombs. The atom bomb had been developed in New Mexico. Was it something crazier? Something science fiction?

He doubted it, but being trapped down here was making him paranoid. Eric moved down the next stretch of concrete corridor, trying to ignore the flickering lights. He tried to clear his mind, to focus, because this is what he had trained for, this is what his job was really about: disaster response. And clearly this was a freaking disaster.

Man, was this ever a 'careful what you wish for' kind of scenario. If it was this bad down here, how bad was it everywhere else? Thinking about other people who might be trapped, injured, alone and afraid, made him focus more easily. He straightened up and pressed himself harder, trying to set a brisk pace. The faster he could get back to the antechamber, the better. From there, he could take the tram back to the Security HQ and then figure out what was going on. He did doubt that anyone knew what had happened yet.

Well, anyone but some of the scientists, probably.

He reached the end of this corridor and broke right. Jogging down it, he was deeply grateful to see that no more cave-ins had occurred. This corridor connected back with the crossroads antechamber he'd initially arrived through. Relief flooded him as he moved through it, making a beeline for the tram platform. He hesitated as he stepped out onto it and it groaned and shifted uncertainly under his weight. He pulled back.

"Crap," he whispered.

Well...maybe if a tram was there, he could just run and jump. It would probably hold his weight enough for him to make that initial run. Then again...Eric looked down at the darkness below. Something sparked down there, and he thought he saw something, but it was too indistinct to tell what. He began patting at his belt and pockets, grabbed for the flashlight he'd appropriated from the storage room, but came up empty. It must have fallen out of his pocket at one point or another. Maybe it was buried under that rubble.

He also realized he'd forgotten his toolkit. Not that it particularly mattered now. Eric moved back over to that initial storeroom and saw that it had become littered with parts and tools. Several of the shelves had been knocked over. Among the debris, he saw another flashlight and snagged it. Moving back to the edge of the platform, he turned it on and pointed the beam down. He sighed as he confirmed his suspicions.

The tram lay at the bottom of the dark abyss, broken and smoking slightly.

Suddenly, the idea of using the trams was deeply unappealing. Sighing again, his frustration (and fear) mounting, Eric turned off the flashlight and secured it. He considered his situation for a moment. There had to be a way out of here other than the trams. He was missing something...but what? He'd seen something earlier.

Eric returned to the crossroads and looked slowly around, trying to jog his memory. It was difficult, thinking through the haze of pain that assaulted him, but then his eyes settled on the storeroom again and he had it.

The ladder!

Moving back into the room, he locked eyes with it and saw that an eerie red light was now creeping out of it. Emergency lighting. Well, at least it was doing its job. He began crossing the room, and nearly tripped as his foot came down on something heavy. He almost kicked it roughly out of the way as his frustration quickly mounted, but stopped as he saw what it actually was: an old, scarred, red pipe wrench.

It looked, for some reason, appealing.

Crouching, listening to his instincts, Eric grabbed it and picked it up. He studied it, then smacked the end of it into his palm. It hurt. It was heavy. He wasn't entirely sure why, but he wanted a weapon very badly, even if it was just a wrench. Well, it probably had something to do with the unknown emergency situation he now found himself in. He felt threatened, in some way. Eric secured the wrench on his belt, then approached the ladder. Now that it was lit, he stared up at it and could actually see. The hatch at the top seemed a good thirty or forty meters away.

Not a pleasant climb, especially considering the circumstances.

But what else was there to do?

With a sigh, Eric grabbed the nearest rung and began to climb.

* * *

It was indeed a long climb, but not as long as he had feared.

It gave him at least some time to think this whole situation over. This was clearly a disaster situation, which he had actually trained for. In fact, given the amount of training and emphasis they had put on the possibility of an emergency scenario, he had always suspected that they were pretty much just counting down the days until something catastrophic happened. Maybe that was why he had never truly lost that curious and perhaps paranoid spark. He kept trying to piece together scenarios of what could have caused this.

Eric kept coming back to 'explosion'. That seemed most likely. Whether it was some kind of experimental bomb, or maybe a chemical reaction on a huge scale, or maybe even they'd pushed one of the bigger reactors too hard and it had finally given out. That seemed most likely of all. The idiots in the white coats running this place were _always_ pushing their equipment too hard. Repair work like he had been down here to do was a chronic problem, and they never seemed to have enough people to get the job done.

Finally, the hatch at the end of the shaft grew in size until he had reached it. Eric waited and listened, but he could hear nothing out there. Gripping the wheel, he squeezed his eyes shut as he started to twist it. Sure enough, a bunch of rust and dirt came off of the ancient thing as he turned it. After several twists, he had the hatch open. Crawling carefully up out of the hole, he found himself in the back of an old storage room that looked slightly more recently used than the one he'd just come from.

He checked it out, but just found more generic and random parts for an eclectic assortment of things. Moving over to the only other door in the room, Eric found his hand resting on the pipe wrench he'd grabbed. His instincts told him to wield it, so he did, extracting it from his belt loop and gripping it tightly. Eric opened the door and looked out, unsure of where he had come to. He found his gaze settling over a concrete platform with tables and chairs. Stepping out slowly, he realized that he actually recognized this area.

To the left was broad, open area that trams passed through. The concrete platform was edged by an iron railing. To the right were a pair of basic structures with a stairwell cut into the rock set in between them. One place had a sign that simply said **BURGERS!** The other read **TACOS!** They were both simple, open-faced structures, housing little more than a serving area, a kitchen, and a storage room. He had actually been here before. He'd tracked it down sometime last year when he'd heard about it. The burgers were okay, the tacos were actually pretty great. As Eric began walking in between the tables and chairs, he felt an eerie sense of dislocation.

Several of the chairs were knocked over and a piece of the roof had dislodged, coming down to absolutely smash one of the tables to splinters. The sign over the burger joint had been damaged and now hung at an awkward angle. There was food, plates, drinks, silverware scattered around the fronts of both buildings. He felt like he was looking upon an area after an earthquake or some kind of massive attack.

He supposed that was just about true.

"Hello? Is anyone there? I'm with security," Eric called out, because he suddenly, almost desperately, needed to fill the silence.

But the silence mocked him, stretching out.

Swallowing, muttering to himself quietly that he needed to get a grip, Eric set off to search the area for survivors and clues as to what might have happened. He went right, into the taco joint. Stepping past the stretch of scarred white counterspace that served as the building's front wall, he felt his senses sharpening up, his combat instincts securing more of his mind, more of his internal processing system. This felt like a battlefield.

The taco joint was an absolute mess and he could smell something burning. He drifted past the ruined front area where they kept plates, cups, condiments, and the soda dispensers. In the back he found the kitchen, and some taco meat was being burned badly in a skillet over a burner that someone had forgotten to turn off. Eric killed the burner and moved the skillet to the side almost out of reflex more than anything else. It seemed like practically everything else had fallen onto the floor. Still no one. He poked his head into a storage room, a very small freezer area, and a tiny bathroom. No go. No one here, either.

Eric left and headed over to the burger place.

He performed a quick search of the area, and almost wrote it off as being in similar condition to the taco joint, but...no, something was different. First, he smelled it: blood. Then he saw it: a dark stain dripped onto the floor. Someone had been injured here. They must have gone in search of first aid, only...he spied a first aid kit right on the wall, in plain sight. Well, maybe they'd just panicked and fled. The brain tended to fumble even basic things during a panic. Eric sighed softly and finished up his search.

Ultimately, there was nothing here. No people, no supplies, beyond that medical kit, which, after a moment's hesitation, he grabbed off the wall and clipped to his belt. Might come in handy. Well, given the nature of what he was facing, it would more than likely come in handy. Once it was secure, he left the burger joint and came to stand before the stairwell. He stared up it, briefly rooted in place. There was something…

Ominous, about it, for some reason.

As if to cement this feeling, a sound came to him, a strange one that he could not at all place, beyond the fact that it sounded organic. It was a weird kind of gurgling noise. It was coming from somewhere beyond the top of the stairway. Eric swallowed. For the first time since he'd really gotten control of himself after the initial incident, he felt real fear. What made that sound? Was it some kind of animal? What kind of animals did they have at Black Mesa? He'd heard all sorts of rumors, everything from bears to a freaking giant shark and even mutants. It felt like Pandora's Box had been opened up. Anything could be loose now.

"Get a grip," he whispered. "It's probably just..."

But the words died in his throat. Just what? The sound came again, and he thought he heard something small shifting around up there. Well, the only way to face it was to face it. Eric gripped the wrench tightly and began to work his way slowly up the stairs, keeping his eyes open and ready. Seconds slipped by slowly, almost painfully, as the tension ratcheted up with every step taken. He swallowed again, tightening his grip on the wrench even more. Eric tried to make himself relax. What if it was a person up there making a weird noise? Didn't want to get _too_ amped up and smash some poor bastard's skull in.

He breached the top of the stairway, his eyes level with the concrete floor beyond. He stopped there, sweeping the area with his gaze, hunting for the origin of this mysterious sound. Then he saw it. Movement to his left, scuttling closer to him, something low to the ground and pale green in color. It issued another one of those gurgling sounds and suddenly straight up _launched_ itself at him, right at his head.

He screamed, having absolutely no idea what he was looking at.

Luckily, his reflexes saved him. He ducked, and the thing sailed over his head, hitting the wall beside him and bouncing off, landing further down the stairwell. It let out a frustrated, high-pitched shriek and as he spun around, he saw it quickly righting itself, preparing for another attack. He turned fully around and began backing up, but before he could get on solid ground, it leaped again. Man, this thing could _jump_!

His reflexes saved him once more and he smacked it out of the air like a baseball with the wrench. There was an awful crunch and when it slammed into the other wall of the stairwell, it released a thick spray of yellow-green blood.

"Aw, God!" he cried as some of it sprayed onto his uniform. And the smell! It hit one of the steps and began tumbling down the stairway. Eric stared at it, watching it make its gradually faster journey until finally it hit the floor beyond the first step and rolled to a stop. He sighed, knowing that he was going to have to go and get a good look at it. He trudged back down, keeping an eye out for anything else, and then came to stand over it.

"What are you?" he whispered.

It looked like...it looked familiar. But why?

He'd never seen anything like this. It certainly wasn't like any creature he'd encountered before. It had a central body and four bent legs, kind of like a...crab? He carefully pushed it over onto its back with his shoe and saw a big mouth in the bottom of it. He shuddered and looked around again, suddenly paranoid that there might be more.

Okay, so…

Black Mesa was researching, like...what, exactly? Where had this freaking thing come from? Eric was suddenly a lot more willing to believe in some of those stories. Especially ones about mutant animals. Turning away from it, he looked back up the long, lonely staircase of concrete. Well, this didn't really change his goal.

He still had to keep going.

So, climbing the stairs once more, Eric kept going.


	4. CHλPTER 04: Not Alone

Eric stood atop the staircase and surveyed the area beyond.

There really wasn't much to see. Just a little area for sitting and chatting, probably for overflow in terms of customers for the places below. The handful of chairs and tables to the left were empty and offered him nothing of value. The way to the right was his only option if he wanted to progress forward, as far as he could tell. There was a structure almost totally blocking the way, and as Eric finished his surveillance, he saw that it was, in fact, completely blocking the way. If he wanted to move on, he _had_ to go through the doorway he was now facing, because the concrete pathway to the right of the small building had collapsed.

The way ahead was not at all appealing.

He knew the place for what it was, remembering passing through it and having a much different view of it then: an arcade. He'd come here a few times, because arcades kicked ass. It was a relatively small room with about two dozen cabinets lined up, their quarter meters turned off so you could play as long as you wanted. He'd seen Area 51 in there, and had just about beaten it once. It had been a fun and welcoming place.

Now, though?

Now it looked like something out of a horror movie. The only light coming from inside the room originated from the madly flickering screens of broken arcade cabinets. From what he remembered, he _should_ be able to just walk straight through it, dead on to the opposite door. There was a natural aisle between two lengths of cabinets. But in that broken, chaotic light, he thought he could see a figure lurking inside.

He decided to call out, but his words died in his throat as he continued staring at the silhouette. Something was just...wrong with it. Something about the way it was moving. Eric roused himself, tried to shake off the anxiety and apprehension. He'd seen battle fatigue before, seen guys acting pretty weird in combat situations before, everything ranging from goofy to downright creepy. Wasn't their fault.

People's brains reacted on a spectrum to disaster situations.

"Hello! My name is Eric Bishop, I'm with Security! Are you injured?" he called.

The figure ceased its uncertain peregrinations between the rows of cabinets, and he heard a low groan. That was definitely not the response he was hoping for, because it didn't sound like a groan of pain. It sounded like…

He didn't know _what_ the hell it sounded like, beyond dangerous.

His combat instincts were screaming at him again, and he decided to listen to them. Whatever it was, it was coming towards him now with a shuffling gait. And it cut loose with another one of those groans, clearer now, and more haunting.

"What the hell is this?" Eric whispered, hefting the pipe wrench again.

Then he had his answer.

It stepped out into the pallid light of the area beyond, and he saw it in painfully clear detail. It was a fellow security guard, and he immediately knew that he was looking at the end result of what would have happened if that little thing he'd killed earlier had successfully hugged his face. And that snapped a thought into his mind.

That's what it reminded him of!

The goddamned facehuggers from the Alien movies!

It was utterly horrifying. The body had mutated. The arms were covered in blood and its fingers had elongated, thinned out, turned into red, bloody claws. Eric swallowed as the thing staggered for him, reaching, groaning.

It sounded like a damned zombie.

"Oh God..." he moaned in response, hefting the pipe.

Could he save the man beneath the monster? Or was it too late? Judging by the disgusting mutations to the body, he figured it was far too late. But maybe if he could just get that thing off of the poor bastard's face…

Eric waited, then swung with all his might in a clean, hard arc, and gagged as he not only smelled the thing, but heard the godawful _crunch_ the impact made. The thing let out a wild shriek and stumbled backwards, nearly losing its balance. Half the little monster's body had been caved in. The zombie swayed on its feet for a moment, then took a tentative step towards him. Eric didn't give it the chance and repeated the action, hoping to knock the thing off for good.

Well...he kind of succeeded.

"Oh damn!" he cried, gagging worse as the zombie was laid out and a grotesque spray of gore escaped the little facehugger like he'd popped a massive pimple. He stumbled away, coughing, trying not to vomit, and just barely won the battle. Though it didn't feel like much of a victory. After getting himself under control, Eric cautiously approached the corpse again. He immediately knew that there was no saving this poor guy.

He'd managed to rip away a good portion of the creature through brute force (though he could still see the two lower legs clinging to the man's flesh, just above his collarbones, they'd really dug in there), he'd also revealed most of the guy's face, which had been reduced to ruin. His nose was mostly gone, his eyes eaten away, and his face was mostly raw meat and skeleton. As he stared at the body, Eric realized what he was going to have to do, and this time he did turn away and collapse to his hands and knees, losing his battle and puking his breakfast up in a burning spray of stomach acid and half-digested food.

He coughed, moaning and spitting several times.

Vomiting was one of the worst feelings ever, and he wasn't even sick, so he didn't get that relief that followed puking from illness. He just felt awful. He wasted a few minutes spitting and clearing his mouth out, then slowly got back to his feet and looked at the body again. The poor guy had been wearing a security vest...and had a pistol secured in his holster. He hadn't even gotten a chance to draw it when whatever had happened had reached him. If he was going to get out of this alive, Eric knew he needed those supplies badly.

He couldn't afford weakness.

Eric nudged the corpse a few times with his toe, because he really did _not_ need this thing twitching, let alone suddenly jumping up or making a grab for him with those wicked-long fingers. They looked like they could do some damage. Slowly, he crouched, then set aside his pipe wrench and began the unhappy process of getting the guy's vest off. It was gross and took too long, but he finally got it off and pulled it over his own head. It smelled awful, but it would stop a bullet. Or anything else this place had to throw at him.

Okay, that wasn't true.

It obviously didn't stop those head huggers.

Taking off the vest had revealed something truly strange and hideous. The man's shirt was soggy with blood and had ripped in several places, revealing his chest. And...his chest had split open! And it was lined with teeth! The split was down the middle, starting a few inches below the base of his throat and going down to the start of his stomach.

"What the hell?" Eric whispered.

He stared at the bizarre change, and then at the hands, and another reference suddenly smacked into his skull. This was oddly similar to a few scenes from John Carpenter's The Thing. Both the long hands and the way the chest split open were just like two of the characters mutating into hideous alien monstrosities.

Completely unsure of what to make of it, Eric felt the urge to just keep moving, because he couldn't deal with looking at this or being around it for much longer. He began relieving the security guard of his holster and pistol, and that's when he heard another groan from inside the arcade. Looking up, he saw that he had more company.

"Aw crap," he whispered. The pistol was stuck and in his panic he just began tugging on it violently, jerking the body. Another zombie was coming for him, groaning, stumbling in the madly flickering light. Right as it broke the threshold of the doorway, Eric finally got the thing out, whipped it up, and opened fire. This one had been a scientist, as evidenced by the ripped and blooded lab-coat. The shot took it in the chest, which didn't seem to stop it at all.

"Duh," he muttered, surging to his feet and backing up a few steps.

These things were slow, at least. He aimed again, surprised at how steady his hands were, and popped off another shot. This one took it in the thing wrapped around its head. That stopped it for a second and seemed to make it reconsider, especially when it issued another loud growl. He fired again, and this put it down as his bullet punched another gory hole in the bulbous creature. But even as it slumped to the concrete, another zombie appeared in the doorway, and he could see more shifting horrors behind it.

Okay, okay...he could do this.

He _had_ to do this, or they were going to kill him.

Well, at least he'd trained for this. Sort of. Eric steadied his aim and began firing off shots with a careful precision, again grateful for how stable has grasp was. He ended up emptying the entire magazine putting down another seven of the horrible things. Almost all of them were technicians, but a few were scientists as well. As the silence fell, his ears ringing from the gunfire, he waited another minute to see if anything else would come, although if it did, he'd need to grab his pipe wrench again. But nothing did.

He was alone again.

Swallowing, Eric dropped to his knees once more. Setting aside the pistol, he quickly began to pat the guard down. Now his hands were beginning to shake. The adrenaline was fading and being replaced slowly with fear, leaden, awful, cold fear. His heart was starting to beat harder and faster, his breath coming more rapidly. Eric knew that if he didn't clamp down and get a grip, he was going to freak the hell out.

 _What_ was _happening_?

Where had these little terrors come from? These...he didn't want to call them facehuggers because that wasn't quite right. Although the facehuggers were supposed to be modeled after horseshoe crabs, they looked more like spiders to him. These things looked...well, not precisely like crabs, but they reminded him of crabs sort of for some reason.

Headcrab.

The word bubbled to the surface of his mind like a bloated corpse rising to the surface of a river. It fit, anyway. At least for him it did. So where did these headcrabs come from!? Was it something they'd been cooking up in the labs? Something they'd found? Some kind of accident? There! He found a single spare magazine in the guy's pocket and took it. It looked intact. Eric snatched up the pistol, ejected the spent mag, and slapped the fresh one in. Well, metaphorically fresh, anyway. It smelled like blood and something else.

There was no time to linger, no time to try and ruminate on why these things were here. He knew they were hostiles, he'd seen the effects of what they could do, and, most importantly of all, he knew that he could kill both of these new terrors that had invaded his reality. He wasted the next ten minutes searching the corpses of the zombies he'd produced, finding nothing that might be able to help him among the new dead.

Reluctantly, Eric slipped into the flickering arcade.

He made the journey as fast as he could. It was eerily silent in there. It felt like there should be a cacophonous eruption of sound given all the wildly flickering lights, but he heard nothing save for the quiet hum of power. Within just ten seconds he was through and out the other door, finding himself on another concrete platform. This one had big cracks running across the floor and up the wall, into the ceiling, which just made him even more anxious. Again, there was only one way for him to go: dead ahead, so he went.

There were windows on either side of the door. They were cracked, but he could see through them, and at least here bright light poured from within. The interior of this next room was well lit and almost welcoming. It was a laundromat, and it was here that Eric really began to see the first examples of the conflict that had apparently begun to engulf Black Mesa in the wake of...whatever the hell had happened.

There were several bullet holes embedded in the far left wall, and he saw a pair of dead headcrabs. There were also two dead scientists. It looked like one of them had gotten caught in the crossfire. Another had a headcrab stuck to him and someone had killed the poor bastard before the transformation could complete. As he performed a search of this area as well, his mind began sliding inevitably back to the creatures.

What were they?

Was it possible that they were from Earth? Some kind of ocean creature? There was all kinds of shit in the deepest, darkest trenches of the ocean, and he knew that we hadn't even properly explored all of our own planet. He remembered that godforsaken, absolute nightmare scenario with the tsunami hitting India back in 2004. Something like two dozen completely brand new, previously undiscovered types of fish had appeared among the ruins. For a few seconds, he recalled that the tsunami had been something like one hundred feet high. Even now, half a decade later, that mere thought filled him with a primordial dread.

He shook it off and focused.

So could they be from Earth? What if it was like some kind of Journey to the Center of the Earth sort of deal? There had to be unthinkably vast amounts of caves and tunnels and caverns buried deep in the earth. It was conceivable that there could be all sorts of stuff down there. Or maybe it wasn't. He wasn't a geologist. Or any kind of scientist. Not even an aspiring one. He just worked out and knew how to shoot a gun pretty well, that was about the extent of his abilities. With a heavy sigh, Eric reached the other side of the laundromat.

Nothing. Not even a single spare bullet.

Well, at the very least he knew that he wasn't too far from his final destination. Or at least the final destination of this area. Up ahead would be a pool, and beyond that: an elevator that would return him to the same level as Security HQ, and not too far away from it, either. Theoretically, he could be back in the armory, grabbing more gear, and hopefully getting some answers, within half an hour. Provided he didn't run into much more trouble. That didn't seem likely, his gut told him. Eric soon found himself standing at the opposite entrance, staring out through a cracked window at the way beyond. Another concrete platform.

It looked intact, but that wasn't what was bothering him, not really. He found the image of that stumbling, head-hugged horror with long, bloody claws filling his mind's eye. That could happen to him, if he wasn't careful. Eric knew he wasn't a coward, he'd faced that down years ago, and he had even managed to get past the second, and much bigger, hurtle: whether or not you froze up. A lot of people didn't understand it, but freezing up wasn't a choice. They didn't get that it wasn't just fight or flight.

It was fight or flight or freeze.

And some people just...froze. No matter how hard they tried, when some kind of emergency hit, their body would literally lock up, and it played all sorts of hell on your senses. It had never happened to him, but his research on the subject clearly indicated to him that that wasn't because he was tough or brave or any of that macho BS.

It was just a throw of the dice.

Whatever genetic quirk made you freeze or not freeze, he'd just gotten lucky. Still, it had taken a lot of training and experience to actually be able to keep his head in an emergency. But right here, right now, underground in an old, converted, '70s missile complex called Black Mesa, he was beginning to feel the edges of panic gnawing at him. At first he wondered why, but now he knew: the initial shock had worn off, and some part of him knew that if he really wanted to...he could take a break right here, in this laundromat.

He didn't necessarily _have_ to face the unknown that lay between him and the lift…

Eric growled softly and shook his head. No. No giving into temptation. People were very likely dying, and it was his job...no, more than that, it was his _responsibility_ to help them. As far as he saw it, right now, it was his moral obligation. He would not sit here, he would not hide. As grim and miserable and terrifying as it might be, he knew that facing it head on would be better for him. So he opened the door and stepped out.

After securing the next concrete platform, he found another flight of stairs and moved slowly but surely up them. The pistol felt very reassuring in his grasp as he ascended to the pool area. If there were any more hostiles in the area, he reminded himself, he could take them out. He'd proven it. Eric came to the top of the stairs and stood in the little entryway that led to the pool. Through the windows, he could see the area beyond.

Things lurked in that beyond.

He saw two uncertain figures beyond the windows, one not far away, the other on the opposite side of the pool. Zombies. They were shuffling around. Not quite the zombies all the apocalypse movies and books had so feverishly predicted, but they were, in their own right, zombies. Or that's what he wanted to call them, anyway.

Resolute, Eric opened the door and stepped out. He aimed and fired at the nearest one, putting two shots into what now served as a former security guard's face. He had to be careful: he didn't have any bullets to spare, currently. The zombie gurgled and twitched as it slammed to the white-tiled floor, then became still. The other one across the way turned and began coming for him. Eric aimed, ready for it, but then it walked right to the edge of the pool and over it. A great splash of bloodied chlorinated water went up.

There was another body, someone that had been either shot or cracked on the head by something, floating near the center of the pool.

Eric watched as the thing flailed and moaned, splashing around, but it didn't seem to be making any real progress. Well, that was fine. Took it out without wasting a single bullet. With the obvious hostiles out of the way, Eric began his search of the area. Even before he got to the HQ, he really did need to be looking for any personnel and more supplies. It was unlikely he would find either in this area, but then again this whole thing was unlikely, so he took the time to perform a quick search anyway.

The sauna, thankfully, wasn't on, and was dark and empty and silent.

The bathrooms had suffered some damage in the quake or explosion, but were otherwise unoccupied by friend or foe.

The final area, a locker room, took a little bit of time. He didn't have time to try and break into every locker, but some of them had been opened, and some of them weren't properly locked. It was possible that someone had stashed something useful in any one of these lockers. He moved among the lockers one by one, ears open for any strange sounds. It was a slow job and he went through it as fast as he could.

In the end, the most interesting thing he found was a half-empty box of condoms and a switchblade that he didn't bother to take. What the hell was it going to do against a zombie, or even a headcrab? He left the locker room, feeling a mixture of frustration and relief. Frustration at his lack of findings, relief at finally being able to leave this place and continue on his journey. Heh, journey. It _felt_ like a damned journey, ever since waking up in that concrete corridor.

He moved over to the security guard turned zombie he'd killed and took a moment to pat the guy down. His gun was missing and nowhere to be found, but he at least had another spare magazine in one of his pockets.

"Thanks," Eric muttered as he pocketed it. Standing back up, he started to head for the elevator, but stopped as he stared at the other zombie. It was still splashing around in roughly the same spot. Something was nagging him.

What if…

What if whoever it was was still somehow locked away in there? Trapped inside their own mind? If there was even the smallest chance that the tiniest part of that man's consciousness was somehow still awake and aware and locked into this hellish nightmare, then...Eric raised his pistol, aiming carefully.

If that was the case, then it was worth at least one bullet to put an end to his potential suffering. He squeezed the trigger. It was a clean shot, a clean kill: right through the back of the head. The splashing stopped, the body bobbed gently in the water.

After a moment, he set off.

Eric finally came to the elevator that would take him up and hit the button.

Nothing happened.

No chime, no hum, nothing. Sighing, he pushed it again, and again.

"Come on, come _on,_ don't _do_ this to me!" he whispered.

Of course the elevator would be out. Of course. He stood there before those silver doors for a moment, considering the situation, then began hunting along the frame for the emergency release. As soon as he found it, he pressed it and the doors popped open an inch. Working his fingers into the space between them now, he got a grip and forced them open. It was tough, and it made him wonder if he'd been slacking on his working out more than he thought lately. But he got it open and found himself looking at a red-lit elevator shaft.

He glanced up. Nothing overhead.

He glanced down. "Aw hell," Eric muttered.

There was the elevator, maybe fifty feet down, and he could see smoke rising from its dented frame. It had crashed all the way at the bottom. He really hoped that there hadn't been any people in there when that occurred.

Standing there a moment longer, he finally realized what he was going to have to do. Make another climb up. Well, he'd dealt with ladders before and he could do it again. The only ladder in the shaft was directly across from him, and he'd have to move along the ledges to get to it. He holstered his pistol and made sure everything on him was secure, then stepped into the shaft, carefully getting onto the ledge and beginning the terrifying process of moving along it. What kind of asshole had designed this? Why put the ladder all the way over there? Why makes these damned ledges just barely capable of being traversed by a human?

How was anyone supposed to do this safely!?

Seconds bled by slowly, but his fingers finally found the ladder's rungs. He stepped onto it and gripped the metal bar tightly, breathing a sigh of relief. Then he looked up. That was when he finally noticed another piece of awful reality that had been deposited neatly into his lap: the ladder was damaged. In fact, it was unusable. Just a few feet above him, it ended abruptly in a tangle of twisted metal. There was no way to go up.

Slowly, he looked down.

The ladder beneath him seemed intact all the way to the bottom, although he could see no other doors along the front wall. Wherever he was going, it was to be all the way down. Eric looked up again for a few moments. He supposed he could get back out, try to hunt down a vent, but...with those headcrabs now part of the picture, that seemed unacceptably dangerous. No, he was going to have to go down now.

With a sigh, he began his long descent.


	5. CHλPTER 05: Waste Disposal

The elevator was worse than he thought.

All the way down his long crawl deeper still into the earth, Eric kept glancing down at it and thinking about what might be inside that metal cube. When he finally hit bottom and stepped onto the dented surface of the elevator, he saw that the emergency roof panel was open. Even before he got down closer, he could smell the blood. Swallowing, he crouched down and peered in through the square opening.

The light from the elevator shaft was poor, but there was enough to tell that it was bad. He spied a heap of bodies among the floor, and could tell that at least one of them was wearing a security guard's uniform. For a moment, Eric crouched there and debated with himself. Could he really afford to give into revulsion and ignore this potential treasure trove? He looked behind him, at the doors, which were open just a little. The way yet gone. Whatever lay beyond. He thought about the roughly one and a half magazines he had left for his pistol, the pipe wrench, the complete lack of any other kind of arsenal. No, he surmised, he couldn't.

He _had_ to do this.

With a heavy sigh that he immediately regretted, because breathing in the scent of blood was just awful, he pulled out his flashlight and flicked it on. At least he'd have light-

The flashlight flickered and died.

"Oh come _on!_ " he moaned, and tried to reactive it.

Instead of succeeding, he wasted a few long minutes cursing at it, banging it into his palm, then against his leg, then pulling out the batteries and switching them around. When that didn't work, he beat it a few times in frustration against the top of the lift until the glass cracked. Still no power. In a fit of rage, he hurled it into the wall. The glass and the bulb burst and it all fell in between the lift and the wall. Eric sat there for another moment.

With another heavy sigh, he lowered himself into the hole. The smell immediately grew ten times worse, and it seemed horribly hot inside of the cube of death. What he wouldn't give for a working flashlight! Eric began working as quickly as he could, going by touch alone for the most part, breathing shallowly and focusing hard on not freaking the hell out. He found his mind fumbling with what must have happened, caught awkwardly in between not wanting to think about it and wondering if maybe it might keep him distracted long enough to get this over with.

There were, he thought, about three people inside. More than likely all from security. God, he might know one or all of them. He couldn't see faces though, and didn't want to. It was slow, grueling work, but in the end, all he got for his efforts was a single magazine and another pistol. Once he found the pistol, he shoved it into his pocket and then hopped back up and out of the elevator. He might have spent little more than two minutes in that bloody dim hell, but it felt like a lot longer. Free of it, Eric kept moving, getting over to the partially-open doors and forcing them open the rest of the way. He tripped coming out and cried out as he slammed painfully to a dusty concrete floor. For several seconds, he simply laid there.

What a goddamned day this was turning out to be.

He picked himself up off the floor and took a look at the pistol. Something had felt a little off about it when he'd grabbed it, but he'd been too eager to get out of there. As he studied it, he immediately found a problem.

The barrel was messed up.

"Aw dammit!" he snapped, almost throwing it across the room.

Surprised at his second outburst of anger, Eric took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and forced himself to relax. Instead, he ejected the magazine and checked it over. Only one round was missing. He slipped it into his pocket. Well...two magazines wasn't a terrible trade for two minutes in that lift. He tossed the gun aside and pulled out his own sidearm. He had no idea how far the situation had spread, but he had to assume that all of Black Mesa was a battlefield now. Eric looked around the room he had come into.

It was a simple receiving area, just a little back entrance probably. The only things of note in it were some old metal shelves to the left that held a random assortment of boxes and crates. He ignored it and moved forward, towards the only way out of the room: a simple open doorway cut into the concrete. Beyond was a larger area. A tank room, he saw as he came to stand in the doorway. It was a tall, long, broad room. Huge old cylindrical tanks flanked him to either side in rows of a dozen. As he started to move down the length of the room, he realized where he was: waste disposal. This was where they dealt with the tons and tons of crap they generated from Black Mesa, storing it or breaking it down or rerouting it.

Whatever they did with it.

He had a vague idea of where he was and he thought that he remembered seeing a map of the area around the security center a few times. They were reluctant to show most of the personnel any of the detailed maps that didn't directly pertain to their routes and living quarters because Black Mesa was a very compartmentalized place: the less everyone knew, the better. Of course now that was really coming back to bite them in the ass. How many people were running around like chickens with their dicks cut off?

He left the tank room and found a concrete tunnel that snaked away from him. Some of the lights in the area were dead and some were flickering, giving the area a menacing video game feel. Just perfect. As he began checking in the rooms he came across, slowly navigating the corridors, he heard a strange sound. It was distant, but he thought it was some kind of chirping noise. He paused when he first heard it, trying to ferret out what exactly it was. It sounded almost mechanical, and yet...it sounded kind of like the noise some sort of animal would make. But what animal made that noise? It was too distorted from the echoes to tell.

Frustrated, he continued his search.

The rooms he came across were all dead ends and useless to him. They were storage rooms or mysterious areas covered in ancient looking dials and switches and gauges. No people, no enemies, no supplies. After tediously clearing three of these corridors, Eric finally came to something a little bit more worthwhile...though it was the last thing he wanted to find. The final corridor he was in opened up into a broader area. Off to the right he heard the sound of rushing water and, peering over an ancient guard railing, he saw a canal of filthy water below. There was another tunnel opening to the left with flickering light. He cast a brief glance down it and, seeing nothing immediately threatening, pressed on to his most significant discovery yet.

Dead ahead was a control area with long, dirty windows offering a grim view inside. The door was stuck open and out of it came the reek of blood and that smoky, burning scent of a lot of bullets having been fired off in a confined space. A single hand, bloodied and missing one finger, lay exposed just beyond the threshold. Gathering his courage, Eric stepped up to the open doorway and looked inside. The room beyond had once been some kind of control room, likely where a few sad, sorry technicians monitored waste disposal and current exchange and other banal duties. Now, however, the place was a fresh necropolis.

There were a dozen dead bodies scattered across the floor. Five of them were still human, seven were zombified, and that wasn't counting the headcrab corpses. There were bullets embedded in instrumentation consoles and blood-sprayed walls. Two of the men were security guards, one was a scientist, the other two were technicians. It must have been a desperate last stand situation. Overhead, Eric saw a pair of square holes, leading into darkness. There were supposed to be ventilation grates covering them, but they were gone.

He realized that the headcrabs must have come down through those vents.

Great, another thing to worry about.

And then he realized something else: he heard breathing. Eric looked around quickly, re-scanning the bodies, and saw that he had been mistaken. One of them was not a corpse. One of the technicians was wounded, bleeding slowly, but unconscious, not dead. Eric's hand immediately went to his belt for the medical kit, and came up empty.

"What the hell?" he snapped, looking down.

It was gone!

When had it left him!?

He began looking around the control room, sure that there must be another emergency medical kit stored on the wall somewhere, but he could see none. Crap. Feeling a cocktail of anger, fear, and panic welling up within him, he left the control room and hurried down the way yet gone. He hadn't seen any medkits in any of the rooms he'd been checking, he would have remembered that, and it was probably quicker to try and find another in the immediate vicinity than try and track down his lost medkit. Where had it gone!?

He wondered about that feverishly as he searched the trio of rooms that he accessed through the new passageway, all of them storage rooms. The lift! He must have lost it somehow while he was searching that darkened lift. It was the only place he could think of where it might have slipped off his person without him noticing. But it was clipped on pretty firmly...searching again, Eric saw that one of his belt loops had broken.

"Dammit," he whispered as he entered the third room, having found nothing in the other two. As he did, he heard that chirping noise again. It was much closer and clearer this time, coming from somewhere up ahead. The corridor he was in turned sharply to the left. Whatever was making that sound might be just around the bend. He stood in the doorway, hesitating, then thought of the bleeding technician and decided to just get on with his search. Almost as soon as he entered the room, Eric laid eyes on what he was looking for.

A dusty medical kit hung on the far wall. Whispering a nearly silent _thank you_ to no one in particular, he quickly crossed the room and dismounted it from the wall. He began to clip it to his belt, then hesitated, and instead opted to carry it. Turning, he hurried out of the room, intent on saving that poor tech if at all possible.

He made it two steps before he heard a very strange whining sound come from behind him, followed by the padding of very small feet.

Spinning around, Eric found himself staring at something he was completely unprepared for.

It was...he didn't know _what_ it was. Some kind...dog? Lizard? It was low to the floor, maybe a foot high, and walked on four...no, it had three legs, a tripod. Its skin was an ugly yellow-green, though there were blue stripes across its back. What stuck out the most about this strange abnormality was its face...or whatever in the hell served it for a face. It looked like just a giant cluster of black eyes. The thing began chirping excitedly at him.

Eric had no idea what to do. Was it hostile? Was it some kind of pet? Experiment? Suddenly, it got lower to the floor and began making a long, drawn-out sound. It started to vibrate gently. The sound was eerily similar to some kind of electrical tool powering up. Just as he resolved to shoot the thing, it jerked violently and a solid wave of some kind of energy released from it in a perfect circle. That wave hit him before he had time to react and Eric screamed as he was thrown backwards clean off his feet. He landed with a heavy thud on his back and skidded a few inches. By some miracle, he managed not to crack his skull on the hard floor.

The medkit went flying from his hands, but the pistol somehow remained in his grasp. He immediately took aim, trying to shake off the pain and shock, as the creature chirped excitedly once more and began coming towards him, loping like a dog. He fired off four shots. Two of them went wide, but another two buried themselves in its big galaxy of black eyes. It let out a pained shriek as the first bullet hit, then abruptly toppled over as the second one found its mark. It twitched a few times, then was still.

Somewhere not distant enough, he heard more chirping.

"No time," he muttered to himself as he got to his feet, "no time to think about this." He had a job to do, he could think about it later.

Stumbling a bit and lurching around, he found the medical kit, scooped it up, and hurried back into the control room. The technician was still breathing, at least. His green jumpsuit was stained with blood, and Eric really hoped that most of it wasn't his. He crouched down, set the medical kit aside and cracked it open, then began to assess the damage. His own back and head were throbbing as he worked. Being tossed around like a ragdoll had _hurt_. After a few moments, he had figured out what likely had happened.

He'd been clipped by a bullet. It had taken a chunk of skin out of the left side of his stomach. He also had a head wound. Honestly, Eric had expected him to be more injured. He took a moment to clean the wounds and patch them up to the best of his ability, glad that the guy was out for this part, because that antiseptic stung like a bitch. After patching him up, Eric decided to give the guy a little bit more time to rest and maybe come around naturally. In the meantime, he had some salvaging to do. Looking out over the bloody battlefield, Eric reluctantly began his postmortem search of all the poor men who had died here.

It was a miserable task, and what was worse, it bore little fruit. His biggest find was a second Glock, which was fantastic, but he thought there'd be more. Well, it was at least enough to arm the tech. Having someone watch his back would be great. Although...studying the man, he did wonder if the guy would be up to snuff survival-wise. He seemed kind of scrawny, and he wondered if he'd passed the latest Hazard Course they were all required to do. He knew a lot of people slipped by or even just got around it entirely, mainly the older scientists well into their fifties or sixties. And it wasn't like he really blamed them.

They were here to think, not run and jump and shoot. Same for the techs: they were here to fix things, not pass obstacle courses. And it wasn't even like he looked down on them for not being fit. Eric had been there in his life, and he knew that in a way, he was lucky: for whatever reason, he had a mind more geared towards putting up with the endless monotony of working out and maintaining his body. It was shockingly easy to slip into that douche-bro mentality where you made fun of, ridiculed, or even hated people who weren't physically fit.

He hated people with that kind of mentality, and sadly had even gone through his own phase of it several years ago.

Eric focused on the task at hand. Besides the spare pistol, which was at least fully loaded, he only managed to snag a single other magazine. He pocketed it and pulled the hip holster off one of the dead security guards. He recognized one of the men, though couldn't remember the guy's name. It might have been Tim. Or Jim. And now he was dead. God. Eric had seen death before more than he wanted to, it was always ugly. Always. But it was also kind of unreal. The notion that this person, who had maybe an hour ago been a walking, talking, sentient entity, with emotions and thoughts and an entire history, was now simply an object…

It was just unreal.

The tech made a noise. Eric crouched down several feet away from him. The guy was apt to wake up in a panic. Sure enough, ten seconds later, his eyes flickered open, he saw Eric and screamed, then jerked, then cried out in pain.

"Try to relax," Eric said. "You're safe. My name is Eric. I'm a security guard."

The man tried speaking but nothing coherent came out. He closed his mouth, his eyes, rubbed at them for a few seconds. As his hands fell away, he slowly opened his eyes again. "What happened?" he asked finally, and looked around the room. "Oh God," he whispered. It was pretty self-evident what had happened.

"Actually, I was hoping you could fill me in," Eric replied. "What's your name?"

"Uh...Watts. Steven Watts. I'm uh...technician. Down here. In the, you know, the waste disposal area," he muttered.

He was in shock, his brain trying to find its bearings. Eric was sympathetic, but he didn't want to linger here any longer than he had to.

"What happened here, Steven?" Eric asked, trying to focus him.

"Right," he said, sounding a little more with it, "I was down here when the earthquake hit. I ended up trapped in one of the storage rooms for awhile. Finally figured out that I could crawl out through the ventilation shafts. Which wasn't fun. Then I saw one of those things. The...the little bug dogs," he whispered.

"I saw one. I killed it," Eric said.

"They're horrible. And, um...I came here. I hid for a long time. I kind of panicked. And then the others came. They were carrying people with the crab things on their faces. They came into the control room and argued about what to do for awhile. I remember..." he looked up suddenly, fear obvious on his pallid, narrow face. "They broke through the ventilation grates. The little crab monsters. And at the same time, the people they'd brought with them got back up and started attacking us. There was a lot of gunfire...I got shot...someone hit me in the head..."

"And you blacked out," Eric finished. Steven nodded. "Well, Steven, you're the first person I've found alive since this whole mess began. I'm trying to get back to the nearest security headquarters. We're close. I need you to come with me."

"I...I don't know if that's a good idea," Steven replied.

"I can't leave you down here, Steven. This place is a mess, and very dangerous. And I might need your help if I run into something technical." This was almost a lie. Although there were certainly technical things Eric couldn't handle, he could probably deal with whatever basic things needed to be repaired. But he had to convince Steven to come with him. Partially because he really couldn't just leave him down here, and partially because, now that he had found someone, another survivor, he realized how absolutely desperate he was for human contact.

"I..." Steven was still hesitant.

"I can protect you," Eric said. "And you'll have this. You can handle one of these, I assume. We were all trained." He offered Steven the sidearm tucked into the liberated holster.

"Yeah...yeah, I can handle a pistol. Though I'm not a great shot," he muttered. After several seconds, he reached up and accepted it. He studied it, bringing it closer to his face, scrutinizing the piece like he wasn't sure if he was seeing it correctly.

"The safety's on," Eric said, and offered his hand. "Use it as a last resort. I'll do most of the shooting, if it comes to that."

Steven looked up at him again. He seemed less glassy-eyed, which was good. Finally, he took Eric's hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Eric led him slowly out of the control room, away from the corpses.

"Have you seen any others besides the zombies, the crabs, and the bug dogs?" he asked, trying to remember Steven's words for them.

"Um...no. Are there?" he asked.

"I don't know. I didn't think there were more than the crabs and the zombies, but now that I've seen that damned dog thing, I'm really beginning to wonder if we can put a lid on what to expect, because I have no idea what it has to do with the crabs."

"Do you know what's happening? I mean, like, at _all?_ " Steven asked.

"No, I have no idea," Eric replied.

Steve sighed. "I thought they'd tell you security guys _something_ at least," he muttered.

Eric glanced at him, studying his new traveling companion as they came out into the main room. He looked to be in his twenties, short brown hair, soft brown eyes, a miserable, put-upon look set firmly onto his gloomy face.

Well, this was a pretty gloomy situation.

"No, they don't tell us crap," Eric replied. "I'm as much in the dark as you are."

"Great."

"Come on. We need to keep moving. Stay quiet and keep up," Eric said, and Steven nodded.

They left the main room and headed back down the corridor where the dead bug dog lay. Bug dog...that was a lousy name. Had to call it something else. And that thought sparked another. He stopped about halfway down the corridor, and Steven stopped with him.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just had a thought. We need to give these things names. The creatures we see. Tactical purposes. I've been thinking of the little crab things as headcrabs, and the people with headcrabs on them as zombies, and these lizard dogs..." He paused, staring at the corpse he'd made. "Houndeye," he said suddenly.

"Uh...those sound fine to me," Steven replied. "That's a good one, actually. It does kind of look like a houndeye."

"Good. Remember those. If you're going to call out a warning, use those names."

"Got it," Steven replied.

They resumed their slow, anxiety-inducing journey through the industrial wasteland that was waste disposal. The chirping had stopped, for now. Eric took the opportunity to check out other doorways that they came across, hoping that maybe someone else had survived this nightmare and was just hiding out, or maybe that there was a stash of supplies somewhere around here. What he wouldn't give for a shotgun right about now.

Almost all of the rooms held nothing of any real value to him. He poked into derelict storage rooms and disused, rusted-over control rooms, things that were probably tended to by men and women like Steven. He was tempted to ask Steven what some of these rooms did, as they all looked so strange to him. He could guess, but Steven would probably know for sure. But it would be a waste of time, so he held his tongue and pressed on.

As they reached the end of the network of corridors, Eric finally found something that actually made him happy. It was a crowbar, though it was oddly more than that. It was tucked away behind an old metal crate sitting on a shelf in the back of the final side room, and the only reason he saw it was because its head, which was peeking out from behind the box, had been painted a vivid titanium white that caught the light. Extracting it, he saw that it wasn't just white, but white and black. The head was white, the handle was the deepest obsidian, the color of deep space. It was a very weird and strangely interesting find.

"You know anything about this?" he murmured, showing it to Steven as he studied it.

"No," Steven replied. "Looks like a custom job, though. Someone must've stored it down here."

"Well, I'm using it now," Eric said. "Here." He gave Steven the pipe wrench he'd been using, and the tech gratefully accepted it. Eric took a few swings with the crowbar. It had an excellent weight to it, and it wasn't very large. It felt great to swing. This was definitely a great backup weapon. He slipped it down through his belt loop and led Steven back out of the room.

"Where are we going?" Steven asked softly.

Eric suppressed a sigh. Steven wasn't great at following directions...but he was probably still shell-shocked, and looking for some reassurance, no matter how small. Either the calming serenity of a simple conversation, or just knowing where he was being taken to. "There's a security center not too far from here."

"Do you think there'll be other guards there?"

"I hope so." He paused. The chirping was back, and close again. "Shh."

The current concrete passageway they were in ended in an L junction, leading to the left. "What's up there?" he asked softly.

"The elevator," Steven replied.

"Okay. Come on. Slowly."

He moved up to the corner and peered cautiously around it. The rest of the corridor terminated just a few meters away, opening into another room where, yes, he saw the old silver doors of the elevator. Although…

"Damn," he whispered.

"What?" Steven asked anxiously.

"The control panel for the elevator looks like it got shot. It's sparking. Can you fix it?"

"I'll need to look at it," Steven replied.

"Okay. Wait here."

Eric moved around the corner and crept to the end of the corridor. He crouched there, pistol ready, listening intently. Still more chirping, but it wasn't coming from the room beyond. Reaching the threshold, Eric scoped out the room. There was just one opening over to the right, leading to another corridor that was, for now, empty. There was nothing else in the room, except for a few spent shell casings and drops of blood.

"Okay, come on," he said, his voice low.

Steven emerged cautiously from the passageway and hurried over to the elevator, casting a quick, uneasy glance down the other hallway, then arrived at the control panel. While he studied it, Eric moved over to the tunnel yet explored. Although if he had it his way, he didn't plan on exploring it at all. He needed to get up, back to Security HQ. The place wasn't precisely a fortress, but it was one of the best places to defend against something like this. There were a lot of people who were trained to shoot and fight and protect, a good supply of guns and hundreds, if not thousands, of rounds of ammunition and shells.

And someone would be there to give him some orders.

"Damn," Steven cursed softly.

"What is it?" Eric asked.

"Gonna need a toolkit for this one. I can fix it, though. Hold on." He got up and moved over to the other side of the room, hunting for tools or parts or whatever it was he needed. As he did, a sound came echoing to them: a long whistle that was oddly reminiscent of the chirping sounds he associated with the houndeyes.

"Try not to take too long," Eric said.

"Found it!" Steven replied, hurrying back over to the control panel.

Eric began to hear chirping, and light footsteps. He aimed his pistol and crouched down, steadying himself. The corridor ahead terminated in a T junction. Suddenly, a houndeye appeared from the left side and began coming right for him. He opened fire and Steven cried out. Popping off another shot, he nailed the houndeye in its big, awful, mesh face and sent it sprawling.

"Keep going!" Eric snapped. More of them were coming.

Within seconds, two more appeared from the right side and then three came barreling into view from the left, all of them coming right for him. Eric began squeezing the trigger as rapidly but steadily as he could, firing into the mass of monsters. One went down. Two. Three. Their ugly yellow-green blood sprayed the walls and stained the concrete as they died. The two survivors broke the perimeter. Eric emptied his pistol putting down a fourth one but the fifth was right there, and it was charging up for an attack.

Acting reflexively, he rose swiftly to his feet, took one step forward, and kicked the thing as hard as he could. It let out a sharp chirp as it was thrown back the way it had come. It released a solid burst of sound-waves as it sailed through the air, throwing Eric back off his feet and hitting Steven, making him cry out in shock again. Eric let out a bark of pain as he hit the floor once more, but forced his way through it as he groped for another magazine. Hitting the eject button, he slapped a fresh one in, sat up, aimed, and fired.

The final houndeye went down.

"Is that all of them?" Steven whispered fearfully.

"I don't know, are you done?" Eric replied, getting to his feet.

"Almost."

"Hurry."

He kept watch on the body-strewn and blood-sprayed corridor, but it seemed that he had momentarily depleted the local population. Steven finally finished making repairs and the elevator doors slid open.

The interior was thankfully empty and clean and well lit.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Eric said as they stepped aboard.

He hit the button. The doors closed and they began to ascend.


	6. CHλPTER 06: Entering Devastation

"So Steven...how'd you get this job?" Eric asked.

The elevator was slow-moving, and seemed to have a bit of a climb. After all his time spent alone, he found himself suddenly very wanting for human contact, even something as simple as a conversation.

Plus, Steven seemed extremely anxious.

"Uh...dad used to work here," he replied.

"Used to?"

"Yeah. He retired last year, went back home to Santa Fe. But before he retired, he got me a job here on the technical staff. I was just out of college. Got my masters in electrical engineering. This seemed like the job of a lifetime."

"Is it?"

Steven sighed. "Obviously not _now._ But before? I dunno, at first it was amazing. This cool place out in the middle of the desert, excellent pay, lots of neat places to go and fix things. But after like three months it started to get really routine. It's just all the same stuff over and over again. Go here, fix this junction box that we busted because we're pushing our machines way too hard. Rinse and repeat a dozen times. Do the same thing tomorrow. I thought I'd get to see crazy stuff, maybe some kind of sci-fi experimental stuff, but they're so tight-lipped about it all. I mean, it makes sense. At first people were talking about this place like it was another Area 51. But..." he shrugged.

"I know exactly how you feel," Eric muttered.

"I guess it'd be really boring for someone like you. You never saw anything interesting? Anything like whatever in the hell these monsters are?"

"No. Nothing even close to that."

Eric hesitated as the elevator slowed its ascent and then came to a full stop, locking into place. "Back up," he whispered, getting his pistol ready. It hadn't yet left his hands. Steven nodded and wordlessly put his back to the wall near the front of the elevator, getting out of the way. There was a loud ding and the doors parted on a small reception area. Eric hesitated, then slowly moved forward when he heard nothing.

Stepping out, he peered quickly left and right. Left dead-ended pretty fast, just a pair of basic benches and a cigarette urn next to a trashcan. Right led away, down a lengthy corridor. Already, he could see that some fighting had gone on here.

"Okay, come on. Stay behind me and don't stop following me," Eric said.

"Got it," Steven whispered, slipping out of the elevator.

The doors closed behind him. Eric slipped back into combat mode as he made his way slowly down the lengthy passageway. He knew this place well enough, as he'd patrolled it often enough. In a way it was appealing: all of the various offshoot alcoves and doors all led to simple enough dead-ends. And the entrance to the security HQ was ahead, one of a few places available at the crossroads hub that lay at the end of this passageway.

In another way, it was decidedly unappealing.

Eric was beginning to get an idea of just how bad it had gotten, of what had happened in his absence while he'd been exploring around underground. He passed a break room where a pair of corpses had been shredded by something, probably the zombies, both of them wearing labcoats. A soda machine had broken open, the result of what looked like a blast from a shotgun, and cans had spilled out everywhere. Some had split, the soda mixing with the blood. In a bathroom, he found white tiles splattered with more blood and a trio of dead men in technician's jumpsuits. Each door revealed a fresh horror.

And he could find no one else alive.

As he neared the hub, he stopped in another room, someone's office, and heard a low muttering sound. At first, he felt his hopes swell: a survivor? But as he stepped into the doorway, he quickly realized that there was something distinctly inhuman about the muttering and, sure enough, spied a zombified security guard standing in the corner for some reason. He raised his pistol and put two shots through the back of the thing's skull, killing the headcrab and the host in the process, splattering a chunky spray of red and green-yellow blood across the wall. The zombie dropped like a bag of bricks and Eric left the office.

The hub was no better, he realized as he came to stand at its entrance.

"Holy God," Steven whispered behind him, horror seizing his voice.

Eric had to agree with that sentiment. There were a lot of bullet holes in the walls, and about a dozen corpses spread across the area, a mixture of humans and zombies, with a litter of headcrabs thrown in for good measure. The doors to the Security HQ were open. They looked like they had been forced open. It didn't look like it got any better in there.

"Come on," Eric whispered sharply.

Holding his pistol tightly with both hands, he moved cautiously in through the broken-open doors. It felt completely unreal to look around the lobby of the headquarters. He had been here just two or three hours ago. (He had no idea how long he'd been unconscious.) The place that had been packed with fellow security guards, a central nexus of thriving activity, was now a fresh necropolis. It was a slaughterhouse.

"Oh man," Steven gagged.

"Shh," Eric muttered, trying to get a grip, but he could smell it too. God, the blood. So much of it everywhere, and the awful reek of death. He swallowed and focused. Okay, the first thing he should do was to check the armory. It was obvious that more guns were going to be required. And more bullets. A lot more bullets.

The armory was at the back of the room. He'd just have to cross a sea of bodies to get to it. He looked back at Steven, who was still hovering in the doorway, face scrunched up. Damn, he didn't want to have to do this, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

"Steven," he said. "Steven!"

"Yeah?" he whispered, tearing his eyes from the bodies and looking up.

"I have a job for you and I need you to do it."

"What?" he asked, grimacing as though preparing for a blow.

"I need you to start searching these bodies. Find whatever magazines of ammunition and weapons you can find. Put them all on the counter there," he said, pointing to the very same desk he'd stood at not all that long ago, getting his orders from his boss.

God, was Martin even still alive? Was he here, among the dead? What about Paul? Robbie? The others he knew even casually? Surely some of them were here, nothing more than corpses now. He didn't let himself linger.

"I, uh...I mean, I-"

"Steven, I need you to do this," Eric said. He wasn't sure how true that was precisely, but what was more important was that Steven not be allowed to hesitate. If he had the time, he'd gladly let the kid wait on the side, but this was a bad situation and it was all hands on deck. If he had Steven face this small fear now, there was a better chance of him not freezing up when a bigger fear came later. "You _can_ do this, okay? I know it sucks, it's awful, but I need help. It's just us right now."

Steven looked like he was going to argue, but then closed his mouth and nodded tightly. "Okay," he said softly.

"Thank you. I need to check some rooms. Yell if anything happens."

"Uh, okay," he murmured, then, after a few seconds of further hesitation, knelt by the nearest body and began to search it.

Now that that little bit was taken care of, Eric set his sights more firmly on the armory door. He began to cross the room, stepping over bodies, intent on getting to that door. Although Black Mesa certainly lacked for variety in their arsenal, they didn't seem to want for volume. In just his armory alone he'd guess there were a good hundred pistols and twenty shotguns, with boxes and boxes of ammunition. Of course, judging by the amount of spent shell casings scattered across the floor, combined with the fact that some people had probably made it out alive and taken a good heaping of ammo with them, he was more than a little uncertain of just what kind of treasure trove he would actually find inside.

And as he reached the door and tried it, he learned that he wouldn't be able to find out at this moment. "Damn," he snapped.

Steven let out a sound of surprised fear. "What?!" he called.

"Nothing. Nothing. Just the armory's locked. I need to find a security card. Keep an eye out for one of those, too," Eric said.

"Uh, okay."

He moved over to the large desk, figuring it to be the most likely of locations. Captain Martin would have a card, and a few others would. He searched the desk but found nothing back there, just dead monitors and some blood on the floor. Eric straightened up and looked around, trying to determine the best course of action. Well, Steven was checking the main lobby, and despite his previous hesitation, he seemed to be doing a fairly thorough job of it. The nearest locations were the locker rooms, shower area, and bathrooms. Deeper in were some offices, a lounge, and the shooting range. There could be someone in the locker rooms…

"I'm going to check out these rooms," Eric said, and Steven nodded.

His mind slipped and slid, fumbling with what he was experiencing as he began hunting through the locker rooms. There were a few zombie corpses in here, and a good scattering of headcrabs around. He also noticed a few burn marks on the walls. Something about them bothered him. Why were there electrical discharges anyway? Could be damage to equipment...but maybe not. Whatever, he had bigger, more obvious things to worry about right now. Like searching the handful of bodies scattered across the locker room.

He worked in silence, mulling over the developments.

This was bad. That much was obvious. But his thinking was obviously flawed, something he probably should have realized early on. Only this was a fairly unprecedented situation, what with the monsters or aliens or genetic mutations or whatever the hell they were. Clearly though, this was a lot, _lot_ worse than he thought. So he was going to have to figure out a new plan. But what? He'd been counting on coming here and getting orders, he was realizing now. Pretty heavily, actually. Eric tended to operate better when he was following a plan, typically a plan made by someone higher up the food chain.

He'd made plans and enacted them before. He'd led people into combat. It was stressful. More than stressful really. He supposed it had to do with a few simple facts. The biggest one being that other people's lives were in his hands. That was most of it, really. But also the fact that leaders largely existed to make decisions...and to take them blame if it all went to hell. If Doctor Breen was still alive, Eric imagined that he was preparing for the worst, looking to shift blame to anyone else. And wasn't the true horror of bureaucracy in its many forms that they compartmentalized, and the blame got passed around and diluted so much that in the end, no one was to blame! Hey, wasn't that great?! Great except for the occasional scapegoat.

But that didn't matter right now. He wasn't going to just sit here on his ass doing nothing, waiting for someone else to deal with the problem. He wasn't going to let discomfort and fear keep him from making decisions and acting on them.

The locker rooms, the shower area, and the bathrooms were a bust. Nothing but corpses and none of them had anything on them. But as he came back out into the main room, he saw that Steven had done his job, at least. There were a row of pistols lined up on the main desk, and only a few magazines. Not great.

"Good job," he said as he started checking them out.

"Thanks," Steven murmured.

He kept looking around anxiously. Eric didn't blame him. The weapons weren't very inspiring. Half of them had been damaged one way or another, and almost all of them were empty. Between those that weren't, he managed to salvage a single magazine, and added it to the three that Steven had managed to gather.

"Damn," he whispered.

"Not a whole lot, huh?" Steven murmured.

"Nope. Gotta get into that armory. Here."

He passed Steven another magazine and took the other three for himself. "Come on." He set off in the opposite direction now, making for the other half of the HQ. Steven trailed along behind him. As he reached the threshold between the main lobby and the corridor, he hesitated. There was a dead body laying half in, half out of that threshold. He almost walked past but something caught his eye and he looked closer.

"Damn," he whispered.

"What? What's wrong?" Steven asked.

It was Paul. He'd been shot in the head, more than likely caught in the crossfire. "Nothing," he replied curtly. "Come on."

First up were the offices. A strange noise drifted out of the broken open doorway. A familiar noise now. "Wait," Eric said, and took aim.

He stepped into the doorway slowly and scanned the area beyond. There were zombies moving among the cubicles. He saw the little monsters attached to their heads, and their shoulders, almost all of them clad in stained, ripped security officer uniforms. Eric sighed softly and squeezed the trigger as he zeroed his sights on the first one. The shot took it in the partially-exposed temple and dropped the zombified thing like a bag of bricks.

At that sound, the other five creatures turned and began coming towards him, clumsily navigating the cubicle farm. It was a simple process to track them and fire off another nine shots, most of them requiring two headshots to die. When the last one fell, all became eerily silent. He could hear nothing save for his heartbeat, his and Steven's breathing, and something electrical buzzing somewhere. Finally, he lowered the pistol.

"Stay here," he said, and stepped into the farm.

Steven took up an anxious watch at the doorway. Eric moved swiftly through the cubicles, checking the bodies for ammo, checking the human bodies for signs of life. His mind was running largely on autopilot now, though it kept snagging on that curiosity he'd seen earlier. Those burn marks on the walls. What had caused them? Why was he obsessing over them? They must be somehow important.

He finished his sweep of the office complex, finding nothing worthwhile, and rejoined Steven at the entrance.

"Anything?" he asked.

Eric studied him. The kid was sweating badly and he looked to be in pain. This was not at all going how he'd hoped it would. "No. Nothing. Come on."

They pressed on, stopping by the lounge and checking it out. Nothing there. It looked largely untouched by the chaos. The shooting range looked like it had taken a beating though. There were a lot of bullet holes punched into the walls, as well as more of those weird burn marks, and two corpses near the front of the room, at the row of stalls where shooters would stand and open fire on distant paper targets.

"Whoa...what the hell is this?" he whispered as he crouched by the first corpse.

"What?" Steven replied nervously.

"I don't...does it look like he's been burned?" Eric murmured as he pushed the poor bastard onto his back. There was a big, blackened mark on his chest where his shirt had melted into his skin, which was charred. Okay, obviously he'd been burned, but his mind was stumbling.

"Definitely," Steven whispered.

"What the...it looks almost like he got hit by...I don't know, electrical discharge or something. But there's nothing that could do that in here," Eric said, raising back up and looking around. The lighting along the front of the room was on, but the range itself was covered in a nest of shadows. Eric looked through the nearest wooden stall into the long room beyond. He thought he could just barely make out something on the concrete floor. Another body? He sighed and looked around, saw the switches back by the door.

"Go hit the lights," he said, pulling his pistol back out.

Steven hurried back across the area and flipped the appropriate switch with a loud snap. The lights flared into being, illuminating the rest of the room.

"Wh-Eric, what is that? What is that!?" Steven cried.

"I don't know. Calm down," Eric replied. "I'm going to check it out." He began to move forward but he heard Steven take in a sharp breath.

"No, don't," he whispered, his voice trembling.

Eric turned away from the strange, dark...whatever it was lying in a heap about midway down the shooting range. It wasn't moving, whatever it was. He faced Steven. "Steven...I need to check this out, okay? Just stay here, you'll be fine."

"But what if you aren't? If something happens to you...I'm dead. There's no way I know how to...to..."

"Steven," Eric said firmly, staring him straight in the eyes, "I will be fine. I'll only be gone for a minute, okay? You'll be able to see me the whole time. Just...stay calm, okay? The only way we're going to get out of this is if we stay calm. Panic kills. Understand?"

Steven swallowed, took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then nodded. "Okay...I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Just...I'll be right back."

Eric hopped over the divider and covered the thing as he slowly approached it. There was nothing else in the large, long room, and there was nowhere to hide, either. It began to take shape as he drew closer to it, and it slowly dawned on Eric that he was looking at a living entity. Or what had once been a living entity.

And it was absolutely nothing like he'd encountered so far.

"What the hell?" he whispered softly.

It had mottled green-brown skin and was vaguely humanoid, in that it had a torso and four limbs. No...he realized as he moved in a slow circle around it. Five. There was a little arm sticking out of its chest. Its other arms ended in long, clawed digits. And its head...it had a big, red eye right in the middle. And pointed hooves for feet. If it were standing, he thought it might be around five feet tall. Although it was hard to tell.

Its legs were shaped very strangely.

Oddest of all, it had green metal around its wrists and neck. They almost looked like...shackles. Shackles and a collar.

What _was_ this freaking thing?

Whatever it was, they'd been fighting with it. There were six bloody bullet holes scattered across its torso, with one in its dome. The blood was yellow. Man, he really _couldn't_ put a cap on what he could expect to see. How did _this_ freaking thing fit in with the headcrabs and the houndeyes?! Was it an alien? A mutant? A demon?

Eric finally got a little too freaked out and retreated from it. He was pretty sure it was dead, but it just freaked him the hell out. He jumped back over to Steven's side.

"What was it?" Steven asked.

"I have no idea," Eric replied. "Come on."

The last place to go was Martin's office, and sure enough, he found Captain Martin himself there, behind his desk. Half his face was burned away. He'd gotten hit by that electrical discharge, too. God, what an awful way to go. Eric couldn't imagine the pain. Honestly, he hoped the poor man had just died instantly. He had a pistol in his hand, though it was fused to his flesh and a little warped by whatever energy had hit him. Eric tried getting the magazine out but he couldn't even manage that. Sighing softly, he patted him down.

"Sorry Captain," he whispered as he found Martin's security card. It was all he could think to say. No extra magazines. There were three empty ones and a scattering of spent shell casings all around him. He'd put up a hell of a fight, and the zombie corpses out in the hallway testified to his last stand here.

Card in hand, Eric returned to the main area, Steven trailing behind him. The card did its job, granting him access to the armory. He had Steven watch the door again as he began a search of the room. While he worked, his mind did as well, slowly spinning up, like blades on a chopper as it prepared to take off.

Seeing Martin's corpse seemed to really drive home the fact that he was, at least for now, truly on his own. Him and Steven, anyway. And as much as he'd been looking forward to getting some orders from someone higher up the food chain of command, he knew that he was at least capable of generating a plan and enacting it. Steven was definitely a follower. Which, he supposed, was fine enough in this particular scenario. Whatever he decided, he was pretty sure that Steven would go along with it.

Provided it wasn't too obviously dangerous.

So where to? He honestly didn't know much of Black Mesa. But what should his _goal_ be? His first instinct was to find more people. What was the best way to do that? He kept puzzling over it as he searched the bare shelves, the empty cases, the workbenches and gun lockers. The place had been almost totally cleared out. But it wasn't a total loss. He found a shotgun, one of the many SPAS-12 models they kept around for...well, maybe for situations like this? Whatever the case, this was going to be pretty great to use against whatever was up ahead. He secured a shoulder strap for it and began policing up shells wherever he could find them.

There was a radio on the floor. He snatched it up and turned it on. It worked! He brought it to his mouth and started calling out. "This is security guard Eric Bishop to anyone, anyone at all. I need emergency assistance...can anyone hear me?"

He waited, then checked the channel. It was on the channel that he and his fellow guards regularly used. He tried again, and then again after that. Finally, he gave up and resisted the urge to smash the thing on the floor.

As he stared at the radio, trying to reason it out, he finally decided that maybe no one was left in the area, no one from his division who had a radio. He spent a few moments cycling through other channels, but received much of the same.

Maybe something was screwing with the radios…

Radios. Communications. A new idea came to him at once and he left the armory.

In the end, Eric walked away with three more magazines for his pistol, enough shells for two full loads for his newfound shotgun, a brand new and non-reeking bulletproof vest, (two actually), and an idea for what to do next.

"Put this on," Eric said, setting the second vest down on the main desk as he walked out.

"You found a shotgun," Steven said, he sounded relieved.

"Yeah. You doing okay?" Eric replied as he righted one of the chairs behind the main desk and sat down. He began to boot up the computer system, hoping against hope that it was working.

"I'm in pain," Steven replied.

"Here." He unclipped the medkit from his belt, (glad that it was still there), and set it down in place of the vest after Steven picked it up and started pulling it on. "There's a bottle of painkillers in there. Find it, take two."

Steven nodded and began hunting. "Head back to the lounge, get a drink from the machine."

"Got it," Steven replied. He paused. "I don't have any quarters."

"They don't need quarters. Just push the button," Eric replied, still staring into the screen.

"Oh. Okay."

While he took care of that, Eric finished booting up the system and began navigating it. He'd pulled desk duty a few times, so he knew the basics. And he managed to pull up a schematic of the area. By the time Steven came back, Eric had found what he was looking for. He memorized the route they were going to have to take, then stood up.

"Okay, we're leaving," he said.

"Where are we going?" Steven replied.

"There's a communications facility not too far from here. Because the main elevator's out, we're going to have to take a different route, but hopefully it won't be all that hard. One of those hallways out there leads to an old storage facility, which in turn is the back entrance to a medical wing. We pass through there, and it'll be just a quick jaunt to the comms facility."

"And then what?" Steven asked.

"And then we try to get in touch with whoever the hell is in charge of this operation."

It wasn't much of a plan, honestly, but it was the only one that was presenting itself to him at the moment. Steven just nodded.

And so, with this in mind, Eric collected up the medkit and they headed out.


	7. CHλPTER 07: Route Bypass

"How'd you get this job?" Steven asked.

Eric gave the storage room he was investigating one last look-over and saw nothing but rusty shelves and old boxes. Same as the last two rooms he'd stopped to check out. Part of him wanted to hurry, but part of him was anxious about leaving a survivor or something useful behind. He felt like he was in uncharted territory right now. He had all sorts of training, and even disaster training with regards to Black Mesa, sure, but this…

This was not just a disaster.

This was a goddamned cataclysm.

"Friend of mine got me in," he said as he rejoined Steven in the maintenance tunnel. They'd found it after returning to the antechamber and finding an old door that Eric had to kick open because he didn't have time to go looking for the key.

"Oh...another guard?"

"Yeah. He was the guy in the office we found the keycard in. Martin."

"...I'm sorry," Steven murmured.

"Me too. We were in the Marines together."

He resumed his journey, moving down the passageway. It was lit by weak florescent bulbs overhead that buzzed annoyingly.

"You're a Marine?"

"I _was_ a Marine," Eric replied a little more sharply than he meant to. That was still a sore spot. If anything, it felt more sore now that Martin was a corpse. His mind kept suddenly jerking back to it, throwing up that image of the man's death mask of a face, the way his flesh was blackened and missing in several places, a hole burned in his cheek, exposing his teeth, most of his hair melted away...Eric shuddered at the thought.

"What happened?" Steven asked softly after a few more moments.

"To what?"

"The Marines. And you."

Eric sighed but forced himself to relax. Steven was just anxious, and hey, hadn't he been asking for that all important human contact an hour ago? He made himself remember that this was better than being alone.

"I was dishonorably discharged. I...got into a fistfight with my Sergeant."

"Holy shit, seriously? Over what."

"It's...complicated. We should focus on the task at hand," Eric replied.

"Okay," Steven murmured.

He fell silent again and Eric felt at least a little bad. They reached a junction at the end of the maintenance tunnel and looked first left, then right, and then went right. There were more doors down the left corridor, but he couldn't stop and search every last room. They'd never get anywhere. He opened up another door and looked inside, then sighed at the fact that it was basically a carbon copy of the other rooms he'd investigated so far.

"God, what are these rooms even for!?" he snapped, lowering his shotgun as he realized that nothing was hiding in here. "I mean, what's even in these boxes? Nothing useful, obviously, because no one has been back here for a goddamned decade."

"There's a lot of places like this in Black Mesa," Steven said quietly.

"Don't get me started," Eric muttered. "I've been all over this sector when the workload is too big and there aren't enough of you techs to go around. They send me to make repairs."

"What's the worst one you ever had to deal with?"

Eric thought about it as they continued. "Had to make a repair once hanging off the side of a tram," he said finally.

"What? For real?!"

"Yep. There was supposed to be a ladder, but it was so old it broke off. Only way to get to the junction box that needed fixing. Still get nightmares about that every now and then. Some of those tunnels are so damned dark they looked like endless abysses down there."

"Yeah," Steven agreed.

"What about you?"

"Had to crawl into a damned drainage pipe to get into a locked room that no one knew how to open. No vents were big enough and the door was too thick to just kick in. We would've had to have cut it open with a torch. But then someone had the bright idea to take a drainage pipe into an adjacent room and try to get in that way, and I drew the short straw."

"Damn. That must have sucked bad."

"Yeah, it did. I got that job done, though."

Eric hesitated as they reached another turn in the hallway. So far, it seemed like nothing had reached these back areas, but the storage sections up ahead might be a different story. It was a bit more open and accessible. He motioned for Steven to wait several feet from the door and moved slowly up to it. Pausing, he waited, listening intently. Nothing. Eric grabbed the knob and slowly twisted it, then opened the door up, pulling it in. He waited and yet still the silence mocked him. Shotgun first, he peered out, then swept the concrete corridor beyond. No movement.

"Come on," he whispered, and moved out.

These storage areas were set up very simply, crossing corridors made a plus sign, with four big storage rooms in the area, one in each corner. At the ends of the corridors were doors. The one ahead of him led to another, similar area, the one to the left led to a bathroom, he wasn't sure what the one to the right led to.

He made it almost to the central area where the corridors met when he heard something. He raised his fist, freezing up, and was glad that Steven knew enough to do the same. Carefully, he moved forward. Whatever it was, he thought it had come from the left. He got right up to the edge, waiting, listening, then began to peer around the corner.

Eric found himself staring down the long, black barrel of a shotgun.

"Oh, crap," he whispered.

The shotgun suddenly lowered. "Thank God," the woman holding it whispered. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Eric Bishop. I've got someone else with me. A technician with Steven," he replied, relaxing.

"Good. Come with me. It's not safe out here," she said, and turned around, marching down the left-hand corridor.

"Come on," Eric said to Steven and they followed her.

He studied the woman as they walked. She was a scientist and wore a blood-stained labcoat. Her black hair was pulled into a severe bun and her brown eyes were full of sharp intelligence behind a pair of simple glasses. She had dark skin and looked middle-aged, though in good shape. If she was alive and as quick as she seemed to be, both mentally and physically, he supposed she'd have to be. One of the scientists who took the hazard course seriously, he supposed. She had an authoritative, no-BS air about her.

"Do you know what's going on?" Eric asked as she led them through the door. It did indeed lead to a bathroom.

"No," she replied curtly as she walked to the end of the row of stalls and opened it up. He watched as she stepped up onto the toilet lid, then onto the tank. "Hold this," she said, and passed him her shotgun. He let his own hang by its sling and accepted it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Getting my stash," she replied as she lifted one of the ceiling tiles.

"Stash?" he asked uncertainly.

"Yes. I've been concerned that something like this could happen, so I secured some supplies here over the past few months. Some ammunition. Some food. Some emergency medical supplies," she replied as she reached for something.

"You suspected we were going to get invaded by...whatever the hell these things are?" Steven asked.

"No, I honestly thought it was going to be something more mundane. I'm a cautious person by nature, and an observant one. I knew that they were doing something dangerous, but I never thought it was this insane," she replied.

She pulled down a small metal box and stepped carefully back onto the floor. She left the stall and moved over to one of the sinks, where she set the cardboard box and opened it up.

"Are there any others?" Eric asked.

She sighed softly. "No, not now. There were. That's what I've been doing: trying to save people. There were a lot of injuries. From the initial event, from the creatures, from friendly fire, from panic. I've got a full morgue not far from here. The last one died twenty minutes ago. I finally decided to go and grab my stash and start making my way elsewhere."

"Did you have a particular destination in mind?" Eric asked.

"The dormitories where I sleep, at first, to see if anyone else was there. After that..." she shrugged and then passed him a pair of magazines. "I didn't manage to secure a pistol. I imagine these will suit you more than they will me."

"They will. Thank you," he replied, accepting them both and pocketing them. "What's your name?"

"Oh. Yes. I'm Doctor Vanessa Thompson," she replied. "I'm a medical doctor here. Hungry?" She passed each of them a pair of breakfast bars and two bottles of water. Upon seeing them and hearing her mention it, Eric realized that he was actually starving, and parched.

"Thanks," he said, giving her the shotgun back and accepting them both. He sat down against a wall, and then he and Steven each tore into the small meal, eating the food and draining the bottles in just a few minutes. When he was finished, he didn't feel satisfied, but he did feel better, at least. He made a mental note to find some real food at some point.

Especially after losing his breakfast earlier.

"Where were you going?" Vanessa asked.

"There's a communications facility on the other side of this storage area and the medical wing ahead of it. We're going to call for help," Eric replied.

"A sound plan. I'm going to assume from your demeanor and the direction you came from that the nearest security checkpoint is not viable?"

Eric sighed and shook his head. "It's a slaughterhouse."

She pursed her lips unhappily. "I thought as much," she murmured. "Several guards came from there and they told me it was bad. I had hoped that there were survivors, or that perhaps in their panic they were describing it as worse than it really was. I'm sorry."

"So am I," Eric muttered. He rubbed his eyes and then rested his head against the wall he was sitting beside. "We should compare notes about them. The monsters."

"Yes, we should. What have you seen so far?"

"The headcrabs and the zombies. Self explanatory, I figure. Then there's the little ones that are kind of like dogs. Call em houndeyes. You come across any of those?"

"A few, yes. They are quite dangerous."

"Yeah. Got knocked on my ass a few times fighting them. And then there's another one I've seen...only once, and it was dead, back in the security zone. It was...greenish brown, sort of humanoid, definitely looked like an alien though. It had this like...green metal on its wrists and neck. I saw burn marks on the walls, almost like electrical discharges hitting it and grounding out. But they weren't making any sense. And some of the guards I came across were burned bad too, like they got hit by a burst of electricity. I can't be sure, but I think maybe they're doing it. Have you seen anything like what I'm describing?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No, nothing like that. It sounds fascinating though...but have you seen the barnacles? The ones that hang from the ceiling?"

Eric felt a chill shiver through him. "No, I haven't...what do they do?"

"They're relatively benign. So long as you're paying attention, they shouldn't be a bother. They're basically fleshy mounds that hang from the ceiling and drape a long tongue down almost to the floor. Anything that gets caught in that tongue gets dragged up into the mound and eaten. It's rather...repulsive," she explained.

"How'd you figure this out?" Eric asked.

"I did an experiment. There are several in the medical wing and I tossed a dead...what did you call it? Oh yes, headcrab, at the tongue. It's messy."

"Oh...so that's it? Nothing else?" She shook her head. "Okay then, so we've got headcrabs and zombies, houndeyes, barnacles, and whatever the hell that thing back in security was." He heaved a sigh. "This is going to get worse before it gets better."

"Oh I'm positive it will," Vanessa agreed. "Things do tend to work out that way."

Eric groaned and took a moment to massage his temples. "So should we move on? You think this is a good idea?"

"You're asking me?"

"You're a doctor and based on this interaction alone I'm almost positive you're a lot smarter than me, so I thought it'd make sense to run it by you."

She laughed softly. "It makes sense, given the circumstances."

"Okay, good. Well, unless anyone has any objections, I'd like to keep going."

"I'm ready," Steven said quietly.

"As am I. I see no reason to linger," Vanessa agreed.

Eric nodded and got to his feet. It was time to press on. He felt better, he realized as they made their way out of the bathroom and deeper into the storage area. Having food, water, a small break, and another survivor at his back, especially one who seemed so competent and sure, (a stark contrast to Steven), probably had a lot to do with that.

Back out in the corridor, Eric took point, shotgun firmly in hand. He moved with a bit more confidence down the hallway and took a left, heading for the next section of storage. "Is there anything up ahead?" he asked softly.

"Just a few barnacles, but that could have changed since I passed through. It seems difficult to be truly secure," Vanessa replied.

"Understood."

He hit the door and opened it up. Beyond the threshold, Eric got his first look at a barnacle. The words that Vanessa had used to describe them, flesh mounds, seemed disgustingly accurate. It looked like a dark lump of organic substance stuck to the ceiling like a wad of chewing gum. A long, narrow tongue, like a vine, hung from its center, stopping just a few inches over the floor. It was in the center of the area, where the two corridors met.

"That's really ugly," he muttered.

Vanessa nodded in agreement, glancing up at it. They moved on, passing it by carefully after clearing the side passageways and finding nothing, then moving to the next doorway. As he opened this one up, a low growl stopped him. It sounded like a zombie. He heard another growl, and some shuffling. They weren't in obvious view, so they had to be somewhere to the left or right. He let his shotgun hang and pulled out his pistol, given that these were zombies and pretty easy to put down. He motioned for the others to wait and moved down the corridor.

After a moment, he determined they were coming from the right and he stepped out, aimed, and opened fire. Three zombies were stumbling around, and he put them down with relative ease, emptying his pistol's current magazine in the process. As he reloaded, he turned around and scoped out the other hallway, realizing that he should've done that before taking on the zombies. He was getting sloppy. Although he saw nothing, the door at the end of that hall was open, and the way beyond was dark. Frowning, he moved a few steps closer, staring long into that darkness.

"Is everything okay?" Vanessa asked.

"Fine," he replied finally, moving back to the crossroads. "Come on."

As Steven and Vanessa joined him, something let out a deep snort. Eric jerked in response as he caught movement from the dark doorway. He began to shout a warning but a loud, wet exhalation sounded and something came flying out of the darkness. He heard it smack wetly against something, and then Steven began screaming and collapsed against him. Eric cursed as he was dragged down to the floor.

"Vanessa!" he shouted.

"I've got it," she replied calmly. As he struggled to untangle himself from Steven, both trying to get to his feet and see what was happening to Steven, (the poor kid was clutching his wrist and Eric could see something green and bubbling on the back of his left hand), he heard her shotgun sound off like a cannon. Something wailed loudly. The shotgun spoke a second time, then a third, and the wailing cut off abruptly.

Something hit the floor in the darkness.

"What is it?" Eric asked as he crouched over Steven, who was laying on his back now, crying out in agony.

"I don't know...damn, that looks like acid. You have a medkit?" she asked.

"Yeah." He unclipped it and passed it to her.

She took it, crouched beside him, and snapped it open. "Watch our back," she said as she dug into the kit.

"Uh-huh," Eric replied, getting up and surveying the area.

"It hurts so goddamned much!" Steven cried. He was gritting his teeth and trembling, tears of pain running down his cheeks.

"Shh," Vanessa murmured. "Don't worry. It'll be fine."

He glanced down as she found something, a small glass container. Opening it up, she grabbed Steven's wrist and upended the container over it. He gasped and let out a loud moan of relief. The bubbling slowed, then stopped.

"What was that?" Eric asked.

"Vinegar, basically. Neutralizes chemical burns in a pinch. Come on. We need to get him to the infirmary. I can help him," Vanessa said.

She closed the kit and passed it back to Eric, then helped Steven to his feet.

They hurried off towards the medical wing.


	8. CHλPTER 08: Communications

"Damn, it's really starting to hurt again," Steven moaned.

"Shh," Eric replied, pistol in hand. He'd heard a zombie somewhere up ahead, down the long, white-metal corridor. As soon as they'd entered the medical wing he'd gone on edge for three reasons. The first being that it smelled like a hospital, and he hated hospitals, the second being that he could smell blood and death, which he hated for obvious reasons. The third were the noises he was hearing. It wasn't just a zombie, but something else.

That awkward sound headcrabs made.

The way ahead was at least well lit, stretching away from him, the walls giving way to doorways every now and then.

"Where is this?" he whispered.

"Patient rooms," Vanessa replied. "They should be clear, but...honestly I didn't exactly take the time to check them all out."

Eric frowned, considering it. Steven was in pain. "Where's this treatment? What is it?"

"Nanotechnology," she replied.

He twisted around and stared at her. "...what?" he asked finally.

"An extremely rudimentary form of nanotechnology. They have some in dispensers around the place for emergency situations. I used up basically all of it trying to deal with the victims and we didn't have much to begin with, but there's still a little bit left, I think. It's at the end of this hallway, then down another hallway to the right."

Eric sighed, then nodded. "Fine. Follow me, stay close, pay attention."

"Got it," she said, raising her shotgun.

He got moving. Some of the doors were open and he did a quick check of each one in passing, finding them mostly untouched and empty. They managed to make it all the way down to the end of the lengthy hallway, coming to a crossroads area. The way to the left led to a tram station, which would be useless.

"Where do these go?" he asked, pointing ahead and to the right.

"Ahead is surgery, right is ICU and emergency room," she replied. "We're heading for the emergency room."

"Got it."

The hallways were clear, but as they began moving down the right corridor, that same zombie groan came back to him, louder this time, much closer. Eric saw an open door to the left, the ICU. He held up his fist, then moved forward, pistol out. As he moved closer, a shadow fell across the door, and then a zombie lurched out. It wore a ripped, bloodstained labcoat and moaned wildly as it lurched for him, reaching with long-fingered, sharp hands. He put three rounds into its head, and popped off another two shots at the second zombie that lurched out behind the first. He lowered his pistol, but then heard a strange gurgling sound that he remembered belonged to the headcrabs. It was coming from inside the ICU.

He approached cautiously when he realized it wasn't going to come out to him. Tense, his heart pounding, he stepped in, and shouted. The headcrab was perched atop a rolling medical cart barely five feet away. It launched itself at him and he barely managed to duck down. The thing let out a sound of pain as it smacked into the door and bounced into the hallway. A deafening shotgun blast sounded and when he finished scoping out the immediate area and slipped back out, he saw that the headcrab had become a smear of blood and chunks.

"Good shot," he said, still dazed from the near-death experience.

"Is it safe?" Vanessa replied.

"Let me check the emergency room," he answered, and headed off that way. He would want to do a more thorough search of the area, but this would have to do for now. He came into the room and found...a bunch of corpses. A baker's dozen were spread out across the area. All of the beds were taken up, covered in sheets, and a few more were covered in bloody sheets along the far wall. He realized that Vanessa must have done most of this herself. Moving quickly around the immediate area, checking in all the little niches and shadowy nooks he could find, Eric finished securing the area. "Okay!" he called, "secured!"

Vanessa and Steven entered.

"Now where in the hell is this freaking nanotechnology?" Eric asked, because honestly he was deeply interested. From what he understood, nanotech was basically extremely tiny robots, like on an atomic level, that could be used for a variety of things. Properly utilized, they had unthinkably powerful creative, and destructive, capabilities.

"Over here," Vanessa replied, guiding Steven over to a white box on the wall. It had a red plus symbol at the top of its face, beside the words **FIRST AID**. Below the plus was a blue screen and in the bottom right corner was a dark hole with a red circle around it. "Now," she said, taking his wrist and gently guiding his hand up to the hole, "this is going to hurt. You're going to get stuck with a needle. But then it'll feel good. Okay?"

"Okay...but this is actually nanotech? Like...couldn't they get into my bloodstream and replicate out of control?" Steven asked uncertainly.

"No, no, not at all. They aren't self-replicating. They do their job and then they die off. You'll piss them out harmlessly. These _have_ been tested," she replied.

He sighed. "Will it help with the scarring?" he muttered, staring unhappily at his hand.

"Possibly, I'm not sure how much is left," Vanessa admitted.

"Okay, okay, let's just get this over with."

Eric watched as she brought his hand a bit closer, then pressed a button on the side of the machine. A needle appeared, then jabbed into his hand. He hissed in pain. The machine began to hum rhythmically. It stopped doing so about two seconds later and buzzed sharply. The needle withdrew. Vanessa sighed.

"I was afraid of that," she murmured.

"It's empty?" Steven asked.

"Yes," she replied. "Come on, I'll need to perform some more regular medical care on your injury. I need to get it cleaned and wrapped." She glanced at Eric. "This is going to take a little while. Give us about fifteen minutes."

"Got it. I'm going to secure the area," he replied.

"We'll be here," she said, leading Steven over to a chair.

Eric left them to it, slipping back out into the corridor beyond. He returned to the ICU, intent on searching it over. As he reentered the room, wary of any more headcrabs lingering in the shadows, he mulled over that alien. Or demon. God, what if it was an actual demon? He'd played DOOM often enough, he'd even liked DOOM 3, and was looking forward to the next game, whenever that was coming out. What if they had opened a portal to Hell? Or some hellish dimension? It was hard to imagine them all being from the same place. The houndeye was nothing at all like that alien thing with the green metal on its wrists and neck. And where did the barnacle fit in? Then again...he was nothing like a cow, or a squid, or a spider, and yet he shared a planet with them all, and yet still more fantastical creatures as well.

So maybe it wasn't so far-fetched.

He searched the ICU, finding more examples of the destruction that had ripped through the area. Bullet holes punched into the walls and medical equipment, blood stains and small pools on the floor, bootprints of blood where people had walked through the stuff, a few dead bodies beneath red-stained white sheets. It was an ugly, unhappy task, but he did it. Not that it got him anything worthwhile. It seemed that Black Mesa was being picked clean by survivors, who were probably going and dying in weird and remote locations, thus leaving stashes of supplies and ammo where they weren't supposed to be. Eric sighed as he left the ICU and continued his search. Well, maybe that would mean finding good caches in desperate times.

He moved back down the hallway, coming to the central crossroads. After a moment's consideration, he moved over to the tram station and decided to check it out. Maybe the trams weren't as bad as he thought. He passed through a simple security checkpoint, taking the opportunity to check behind the desk and, finding nothing, moved on to the station itself. Before he was even out the door he knew that no, the tram station was, in fact, as screwed as he'd come to assume it was. The flimsy metal walkway had completely disappeared, having crashed down into the dark abyss below. And there was even a tram there.

It hung crookedly off the rail, sparking occasionally, letting out an unsettling metallic groan a few times. Eric left the tram station and came back to the crossroads, then began the long process of clearing the patient rooms. It was a paradoxically boring and tense job, as it seemed to take ages, and more often than not revealed nothing, but there was always the possibility that some inhuman monster could be lurking behind any door…

Ultimately, all he found was a single headcrab that he splattered across the wall with two shots. From there, he checked out the rest of the place, the surgical bays, but they didn't show him anything he cared to see. With his sweep of the area completed, Eric rejoined the others. He found Vanessa and Steven talking quietly, Steven sitting in a chair gingerly holding his hand, which was wrapped entirely in gauze now, Vanessa leaning against a nearby counter.

"Anything? I heard some gunshots," she said as he came in.

"Just a headcrab," he replied. "Otherwise, nothing. We're clear. And nothing in the form of supplies, either."

She frowned. "Yes, we used a lot to defend this place."

"How's your hand?" Eric asked, shifting his gaze to Steven.

"It hurts, and I don't think I'll be able to shoot all that well, but I'll be fine," he replied.

"Fine then. We should keep moving."

Vanessa sighed. "I suppose we should." She looked at Steven. "Are you ready?"

"I am," he said, getting up.

"Good. Do you need anything else from this area?" Eric asked.

"No, I've packed as much as I can into this," she said, patting the medkit hanging from her belt.

"Perfect, let's get to it then. The sooner we can get out of this nightmare, the better," Eric said, and with that about faced and went back into the hallway. The way they were looking for was through a door immediately to their right. Eric moved up to it and opened it carefully, peering into the room beyond, which was a small storage bay. It was at least a lot more well-used, given that it stored actual medical supplies. It was clear and they moved through it, to a door at the back, almost hidden between a pair of huge cabinets.

The hallway beyond was at least decently lit, though there was a spray of blood across one wall and a few spent shell casings on the floor.

"How far do we have to go?" Vanessa asked as they began traversing the hall.

"A few corridors down, there's a service lift that'll take us all the way up to the communications facility," Eric replied.

"Thank God," she muttered.

He nodded in agreement. Now, they just had to get there, secure it, and hope that it worked. And then hope there was someone worth their salt on the other side. And that they'd actually be able to help them.

This was way too many ands.

But honestly, after all the crap that had happened so far today, Eric knew that he was lucky to be alive, let alone intact. He kept trying to think hopeful thoughts as he made his way down the passageways and came to the service lift. It wasn't particularly large. Nor did it look very stable. He sighed softly as he stared into the tiny cubicle.

"Crap," he muttered. "We should really go one at a time. I'll go first."

"We'll be right behind you," Vanessa replied.

"Inasmuch as you can be. No idea how long a ride takes," Eric said. He stepped aboard and hit the up button. The door closed behind him and the little lift began to ascend. It did so at least at a decent pace. Kind of. Although he was unhappy to find that overall the ride lasted thirty seconds. Half a minute didn't seem like all that long to most people, but it could be a goddamned lifetime if you were getting your life threatened. Especially considering it would be two thirty second trips: up and down. The door opened up and showed him a bleak ingress of concrete and metal. Eric stepped out, pistol at ready, and heard a growl to his right. Before he could respond, an explosion of bright, vivid pain burst into being on his right bicep.

He screamed and stumbled away, raising the pistol reflexively.

A zombie was coming for him, arms out. The elevator door closed and it began to descend. The thing has slashed his goddamned arm open! Fighting through the agony which was drawing tears from his eyes, he aimed and began firing as best he could. There were more zombies behind the first. At least half a dozen. And more behind them! Cursing, he started backing up. His shots weren't hitting their mark, but on the plus side, there were so many zombies that it didn't really matter because he was at least hitting something every time squeezed the trigger. The first zombie that had slashed him went down, then the second.

Then his pistol emptied. There were eight more still coming! Eric hastily reloaded, slapping a fresh magazine in, then extended his arms to try and steady his aim. He cried out at the movement. It felt like his arm had been doused in gasoline and set aflame. He kept up a steady rate of fire, beginning to panic. That panic became full blown hysteria as he emptied his second magazine, began to reload, and then heard a deep, wet snort come from behind him. He spun around and raised the pistol. He aimed, focusing, and-

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?" he screamed in exasperated terror.

Some kind of low, squat brown-green thing with what seemed to be a cluster of tentacles for a mouth. As he was staring at the weirdly shaped monster, it suddenly let out a familiar wet sound and spat a thick green glob of something at him. He yelled again and barely managed to sidestep it. Behind him, he heard it smack, presumably, into one of the zombies. Eric opened fire, knowing he had to kill this thing right now.

Especially when it started coming rapidly towards him!

He emptied half the magazine into it and as it got within biting distance (could it bite?!) it suddenly let out a wailing moan and collapsed to the floor. Right as Eric remembered that there was a small army of zombies advancing on him, he felt a burst of pressure on his back. He jerked forward and spun around at the same time, aiming and firing on the remaining zombies. He emptied his current magazine, reloaded again, and expended another four rounds putting down the remaining creatures. Right about that time, the elevator doors opened and Vanessa stepped out, shotgun ready. She surveyed the area.

"I heard gunshots," she murmured as she stared across the sea of the dead. "What is that?!" she asked, her eyes zeroing in on the creature.

"This is what spat the acid at Steven," Eric growled, turning and kicking the thing. "It's a damned...bull...squid," he said.

"Bullsquid?" Vanessa asked.

"Look at its face!"

"I suppose so...you're hurt. You're bleeding," she said, coming forward and getting her kit.

"Yeah," Eric muttered, wincing and looking at his arm. It looked bad. There were three cuts across his bicep and they looked deep. "Don't suppose there's any nanotech around, huh?"

"Not as far as I know." She looked around and then sighed. "I could use a table, at least...here, follow me."

The corridor they were in was shaped like a T. The halls to the left and right both had corpses in them, but the one dead ahead of the elevator seemed relatively secure. Relatively. That didn't sit well with Eric. "Get set up, I'll be right back," he said, setting off to the other end.

"Hurry up, you're bleeding badly," Vanessa replied.

There was a door at the end of the hall, and another pair of short corridors leading to the left and right as well. They were each clear, both of them ending after about thirty or thirty five feet in a closed door. Good enough for now. He returned to Vanessa.

"Sit," she said, and he sat.

While she was in the process of tearing off the shredded remains of his sleeves, the elevator returned and Steven stepped out. "Holy crap!" he said, looking around. "Are you okay?" he asked after gawking at all the bodies.

"I'll be fine," Eric replied, wincing as Vanessa started cleaning the wound. "Off to your left there is one of the things that messed up your hand. It's a bullsquid."

"A bullsquid?" He looked to his left. "What the hell!? That thing is seriously creepy," he whispered and moved a little closer to it.

While he checked it out, Eric focused on something else, because this was hurting a lot. "I'm going to hit you with some lidocaine. It'll numb you up."

"Sooner the better," he muttered. As she started injecting him multiple times around the wounds, he decided to try and get a conversation going. Talking usually helped him not think. "How'd you end up out here?"

"I used to work with the CDC," Vanessa replied. "Started out as a doctor, but then CDC wanted me for a job. After a few years of that, I moved to a government hospital in Washington DC. I was there until someone told me about a job listing out here. I thought a change of environment was called for, since I'd recently gone through a divorce."

"Oh. Sorry," he murmured.

"Don't be. I mean, it was sad, but we had just fallen out of love and realized we didn't have a compelling reason to stay together when he got a job offer out in California. We were in the process of figuring out how to manage the transition and it just kind of...occurred to us. So we went through the divorce as quickly and painlessly as possible. I stuck around DC for awhile, but when that call came, I felt, I don't know, compelled. Plus, I thought it would be interesting. At least I was right in that regard," she said.

"Today is many things, and I suppose interesting is at least one of them."

"It does raise so many questions. Are these aliens? Demons? Mutations? Inter-dimensional beings? Something else? Are they from the future? How long has Black Mesa known about them? Was this an accident? Intentional? So many questions."

"I wonder if anyone who knows is still alive," Steven said as he approached them again. "Man, that looks bad..."

"Doesn't hurt anymore at least. How close are we to done?" Eric replied.

"Halfway through stitching them up. Stop complaining," Vanessa answered.

Eric sighed. He hated getting stitched up. But before long she had it done, finishing the stitching and then wrapping the wound with gauze. As soon as she was finished, he got back to his feet and winced as he moved his arm around, testing his range of motion.

"Here," Vanessa said, placing a pair of painkillers in his hand, "you'll want these."

"Thanks." He dry-swallowed them and then turned to the communications room. He was intent on getting in that room and completing this portion of his mission. However, as he got up to the door and tried to open it, he ran into yet another problem.

"Oh come on!" he snapped after trying the handle.

"What's wrong?" Steven asked.

Eric heaved a sigh after studying a small screen built into the wall beside the door. "It's locked. But it's not a normal lock...I've actually seen this in another part of the facility. It's kind of a holdover from whenever the hell this place was built. It's an extra security measure because I'm guessing this was some crucial area at one point or another. It's a dual-lock system. We have to split up and hit a button at the same time on opposite ends of this area," he said, pointing left, then right, "and that will unlock this room."

"Great," Vanessa muttered. "How are we going to time it?"

"There _should_ be something that will help with that. Like a countdown one of us can initiate. Okay, you two head left, I'll go right," Eric said, turning and setting off.

"Got it," Vanessa said, and she began leading Steven to the left.

Eric started to get a bad feeling as he approached the door at the end of the hall. It was vague and uncertain, but definitely bad. The feeling persisted as he reached the door and slowly opened it. But the room beyond was clear. It wasn't even very big. He cleared it quickly, finding just a simple workstation and a chair in a room that was about the size of a broom closet. He searched the workstation over, but it wasn't all that complicated.

Finding the countdown, he called down to them. "Ready?!"

"Ready!" Vanessa called back.

He waited a second, then hit the button next to a small, rectangular screen that read, on old analogue numerals: **0:05**. The five flipped down, replaced by a four, then a three. Eric's finger hovered over an old, dusty red button. When it hit **0:00** he pressed the button. There was immediately a loud click and a short chime.

"Did it work!?" Steven called.

"Yeah!" he replied, and left the office.

The second he did, something happened. A loud hum began to build on the air and Eric immediately tensed up. He grabbed his shotgun and aimed it at nothing in particular. What felt like static electricity washed over him, crackling and setting his hairs on edge.

"What is that?!" Steven called. He saw both of them at the other end of the hall.

"Stay there!" Eric yelled.

Something was definitely happening. He saw some green flashing, what almost looked like flashes of emerald light popping into existence out of nowhere a few feet ahead of him. The hum was growing louder. And then, there was a bright flash of green luminescence. Eric cried out in surprise, taking a step back, trying viciously to clear his vision. He saw something dark standing in front of him now, something that definitely hadn't been there before. As he took aim, his vision cleared and he realized what he was looking at.

A living version of the thing he'd found back at the shooting range! The strange monster with the green metal around its neck and wrists. It looked at him with a big crimson eye and made low, disturbing sounds. Suddenly, it reared its hands back and a loud static-like charging noise began to build. That broke the spell. Eric took aim and fired. At about the exact same time he was firing, the thing jerked its arms forward, towards him, and he barely managed to sidestep as a bolt of pure, green energy shot forward.

He was right! They _did_ shoot energy!

The shotgun blast hit it square in the face, turning it into a cloud of pulpy yellowish gore. It hit the floor in a slump.

Vanessa and Steven slowly came over to him.

"This is what you were talking about earlier, isn't it?" Vanessa asked softly, staring down at it. "I can see exactly what you mean. The metal shackles, the collar...what _is_ this creature?"

"A bastard," Eric muttered. "I saw more than a few guys with bad, _bad_ burns back at the Security HQ. That was very nearly me."

"Could this thing be...I mean, could _we_ have put those metal bracelets on? Could it be like an experiment gone wrong?" Steven asked softly.

Eric considered it, then knelt and studied one of the manacles. "No," he said finally.

"You sound so sure," Vanessa said, looking up.

"If thing was one of ours, there'd be a barcode on that shackle, or on the collar."

Vanessa frowned and looked down. She shifted around, carefully moving the creature, studying it. "That's a very good point," she murmured. "It could be natural...although it doesn't look like it. It could be...ceremonial. Or a fashion statement. Though I doubt that. It might not be a sign of enslavement or control."

"I think it is," Eric murmured.

"Why?" She looked up at him.

He shrugged uneasily. "I don't know, just a hunch." He looked up at the doorway to the comms room. "We should try calling someone."

"What should we name it?" Vanessa asked.

"Hmm...well, I've named most of them, you want a turn?" Eric asked, looking at Steven.

"Me?"

"You got anything Vanessa?" Eric asked, looking back at her.

"Not really," she replied.

He looked back up at Steven, who sighed. "How about...uh...alien...slave?"

"Alien slave?" Eric asked. Steven shrugged. "Okay, whatever. It's an alien slave. Come on." He moved over to the door and opened it up. The radio room beyond was cramped and packed with gear. It at least was a bit more modern. Taking a seat, Eric fired up the equipment. He began the process of getting it all in working order when he noticed something. A screen was flashing red off to his right. He groaned as he studied it.

"Now what?" Vanessa asked.

"Something's wrong with the transceiver tower on the surface. Which means we need to climb up there and fix it, apparently," he replied, studying the available information.

"How do we get there?" Steven asked.

"Uh..." he stood up, "follow me."

Leaving the radio room, he moved back down the central hallway, throwing an uneasy glance at the dead alien slave, and then hooked a right, towards where the corpse of the bullsquid lay. Something was still bugging him about the alien slave.

"How did it teleport in?" he asked as he moved through the door he found at the end of the corridor. It led to a small storage room with a ladder at the back. Moving across the room, he came to stand at the ladder and glanced up. Well, at least it wouldn't be a long climb.

"I've been wondering that myself," Vanessa murmured. "It's certainly disturbing."

"Yep," Eric agreed as he began climbing. "I really, really hope they can't do that naturally. Although...maybe that's what the metal is for."

"Maybe," Vanessa replied.

They climbed up the narrow shaft until Eric reached the top. He pushed open the hatch he found there and then groaned as bright sunshine hit him in the eyes. "Damn!" he snapped, squinting painfully and waiting for his eyes to adjust.

"What's wrong?!" Steven called.

"Too bright," he replied. "Give me a second."

As soon as he was ready, he poked his head out. Looking around, he realized that he had come to a small valley. Rock walls rose behind him and to either side. The path ahead curved quickly out of sight, blocking whatever may lay beyond. The only things in the valley were a concrete platform, which he was emerging from, a metal transceiver tower, and a concrete pathway leading away. There wasn't anything around.

"We're clear," he said, climbing out and turning to offer Vanessa a hand. She took it and crawled out into the sunshine, as did Steven. He hesitated as distant echoes of machine gun fire began sounding off.

"Is that-" Steven began.

"Yes," Eric murmured.

"But...I thought there were no automatic weapons at Black Mesa," Vanessa said.

As they listened, several more machine guns spoke up. Something exploded. "There aren't," Eric replied.

"The military?" Steven asked hopefully.

"Probably. Thank God. Fix that tower," he said, returning his attention to Steven, who nodded sharply and hurried over to the tower. There was a small metal box on the concrete beside it and here Steven crouched and opened it. From within he extracted a toolkit, and then set to work on fixing the tower. Eric listened to the sounds of conflict as he waited. It sounded pretty bad out there. Mixed in with all the gunfire and the occasional explosions, he heard a chopper whirring around somewhere. "Man, they must be here in force. They're not gonna believe this crap. We used to joke sometimes about fighting aliens..."

"Not a joke any longer," Vanessa said quietly.

"True that."

It took Steven only two minutes to make the repair. Once he was done, they climbed back down and returned to the radio room. Eric fired it up and within about five seconds of calling out, he received a response.

" _I hear you, Bishop. Captain Jackson coming back. Where are you? Over,"_ a deep, grizzled voice asked. Eric felt relief flow through him.

"We're at Communication Center Seven. Over," he replied.

" _Okay...gimme a moment. Got a map here...how many are you? Over."_

"Three. I'm security, and I have a technician and a medic with me. Over."

" _Good God, that'd go a long way for us right now. Especially the medic. We're short."_ A pause. They heard paper rustling over the line. _"Okay, Comms Seven, I got you. We're actually very close! If you head up topside and follow the path, you'll come to a dorms building. Pass through it and then through a recreational facility beyond that. From there, you'll come to a parking lot. We're in the parking garage there. Third story. We're gathering here, there's a good dozen of us, mostly scientists with a few security guards. Over."_

"We're coming right now. Over," Eric said.

" _Understood. Be advised: the military has entered Black Mesa in force and are telling everyone to keep their heads down. So...be careful out there. Over."_

"Understood. We'll be there soon. Out."

He leaned back in the chair and let out a deep sigh of relief. "Oh thank God," he whispered.

"Now we just have to get there," Steven said.

Eric nodded and stood up suddenly. "Let's get that out of the way."


	9. CHλPTER 09: Topside

Back in the sunshine once again.

As they emerged in the bright desert sun, Eric felt a hell of a lot better. Even though his arm was beginning to bug him as the lidocaine wore off, he still felt great. He had a goal, a clear objective in mind, and more people on the other end of this goal! All they had to do was get to the parking garage, hole up with the others, probably perform some defense, and wait for the military to clean up the mess! And it wasn't like they even had to go that far. Although he had no idea what lay between here and there.

And now that he had seen one of those alien slaves in action...he was a lot less confident about his chances of survival now. But he couldn't let anyone else see that. He wasn't sure, but he thought he might've been elected group leader. Obviously he was by Steven, but he thought Vanessa might be able to do a better job than him. Then again...this _was_ a combat situation and he'd seen combat before. One of the first rules of leadership under fire: don't let those under you see how afraid you are. Broken confidence was viral.

"All right, let's keep it tight and simple. I want the two of you behind me. We need to move through this next area. Got it?" he asked, looking at the pair of them. Both of them nodded. He turned back around, facing the concrete path, the way yet gone. There was a lot of machine gun fire coming from somewhere relatively close. Here's hoping there wasn't a friendly fire incident. The pathway curved around, following the natural valley, and quickly opened up into a bigger area. It appeared to be the side of the dormitories building Jackson had informed him of. Nothing on the outside but sand and a few squat cacti.

Eric led the pair towards a side entrance. There might be survivors inside, or something useful. Maybe the military had left behind a machine gun. That would sure make him feel better. Eric opened the door and peered inside, finding a long corridor stretching away from him to either side. A few unmoving shapes were slumped along it. Mostly security guards, but he saw a single alien slave and a zombie mixed up in there as well. All along the wall ahead of him were doors with names above them. Most were closed.

"Quick search of these, you two break right, I'll go left, we meet back in the middle," he said quietly as he slipped inside.

They both responded quietly and went off. Eric moved down the row, cautiously opening each door and peering within. What he found looked very familiar: they were basically copies of his own dorm, only here they were doubled up with a bunk bed. He moved into each one, checking under the bed, in the small bathroom. In one shower cubicle, he found a dead man in his boxer shorts. He'd put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, making a huge mess of his brains all over the wall behind him. Somehow, Eric couldn't bring himself to salvage the ammo and instead turned out the light, leaving the body behind.

How many had died in this invasion so far?

How many were destined to die?

The answer to the first question had to be in the hundreds by now, just going by what he had seen so far. The second question though...he had no idea. Maybe thousands, if this situation kept going. Since he still had no idea what had actually _caused_ this mess, he had no idea how they might put an end to it. All he could do was keep helping people, keep killing monsters. It was, at least, a relatively simple set of instructions. With this in mind, he finished searching his side of the corridor and then approached the turn at the end of the passageway. All he had to do was poke his head around and make sure there was nothing-

Right as he got up to it, that weird, low whooping sound came to him. He quickly switched to his shotgun and pressed himself against the wall next to the corner. Listening, he heard one of the alien slaves. No...two. At least two. Maybe more. He took a breath, released it, took another, released. Time to do this, had to be fast. Eric leaned around the corner, shotgun ready, and bit back a curse as he saw not one, not two, but _five_ of the bastards gathered in the main lobby! He was so surprised his first shot went wild, hitting the wall behind them and instantly alerting them to his presence. They all turned on him at once and began charging their attacks.

Eric readjusted his aim and blasted out another shell. This one caught the nearest alien monster right in its big red eye, killing it instantly and spraying the others with a mist of gore. He barely managed to pull back as several bolts of green energy came his way. Once they were finished, he leaned out again and fired, managing to pop off two shells this time. Another headshot, but he only winged a third and had to pull back around again. His was so pumped up on adrenaline that his hands were unsteady.

He played pop and shoot with them, trading shells for green lightning, until his shotgun ran dry and only two of them remained. Although he'd killed four of them, another one had run in from the opposite side of the lobby. As he started reaching for more shells, he suddenly heard quick footsteps. They were coming for him! He abandoned his effort and instead drew his pistol. He barely managed to get it up in time as the first of them rounded the corner. By this time he could hear Vanessa and Steven coming to his aide.

"Fall back!" he yelled as he himself did just that.

He opened fire, the sidearm barking in his tight grasp as the first alien slave whirled around the corner and started charging up for another attack. As he put it down, having to expend five shots to do it, the other one was hot on its heels. This one didn't stop and begin to charge its attack. No, this one kept charging right towards him. He was suddenly very aware of those claws. Eric continued firing, popping off another half dozen shots and spraying the thing's yellowish blood on the walls. It collapsed to the floor at his feet.

Eric stood like that for several seconds, pistol trembling slightly, and when he felt certain nothing _else_ was coming, he lowered it.

"Are you okay?" Vanessa asked from down the hall.

"Just fine," he replied, and holstered his pistol. Quickly grabbing his shotgun, he reloaded it, having just enough shells for a full load. "Find anything on your end?"

"No," Vanessa answered.

"Okay...uh...come to me."

They moved down the hallway, joining him. Clutching his shotgun tightly, he kept looking at the bodies he'd made. Man, they were ugly, and creepy. Downright disturbing, honestly. "Now what?" Steven asked as they came up to him.

"We keep searching," he replied, and set off.

More than ever, he wanted to get this over with. They moved into the entrance lobby and found that nothing new had entered in the short interim since the battle. They moved quickly over the battlefield, finding more dead security guards. Eric tried not to linger. There were going to be a lot more dead before this was all over. After they cleared the lobby, it was a relatively simple process to finish clearing out the dorms building. Eric finished off the bullets in his pistol killing a trio of headcrabs they discovered in some of the dorm rooms, and the only real discovery of consequence he made happened near the end.

There was an exit on the other side and when they opened it, a dead man who had been slumped against the door slid in.

"Damn!" Steven snapped in surprise. "God, that scared the crap outta me."

"It was unexpected," Eric muttered as he crouched, seeing that the man had pistol in his grip. Only it was no basic pistol, but a goddamned .357 Magnum. A hand cannon. He pried it loose and opened it up. All six slots were empty. He'd fired off every round. Lucky, a quick pat down revealed four quick-loads of magnum rounds. He loaded it up, snapped it closed, then pocketed the rest. After a moment's consideration, he also salvaged the man's holster, and then turned his own holster, sidearm, and all remaining ammo for it over to Vanessa.

"Thank you," she said, accepting it.

"I'm sure you'll put it to good use sooner rather than later," he replied, attaching the new holster and securing the magnum.

"Probably," Vanessa muttered unhappily.

The door led back outside to a volleyball court that had been subjected to some intense fighting. Several zombie corpses were spread out across it. They moved quickly across the court, passing through the chainlink fence and up to the door that led into the next building. Eric found himself getting increasingly eager to find the others, especially when, right as he put his hand on the doorknob, a sudden resurgence in the rattling staccato of military machine gun fire sounded off. And it was close, too. Jeez, what did they find a nest of zombies or bullsquids or something? Someone was shouting, too. Several someones.

It must be bad.

He moved into the next area, finding himself in another huge pool area. He had a flashback to the other time he'd encountered a pool when he scanned the room and saw several bodies floating in the water, each with their own cloud of blood. He saw dark movement across the way: an alien slave! It was all the way over on the other side of the pool.

"Damn!" he hissed, dropping his shotgun to hang by its sling and quickly drawing his magnum.

"What?" Steven asked.

He answered by aiming and firing. There was a spray of yellow blood and the alien slave was thrown violently against the wall it was standing near.

"Holy crap, you're a good shot," Vanessa said.

Eric lowered the gun, though he didn't reholster it. He'd actually spent a lot of time shooting a magnum at the range and he'd forgotten how good it felt, how good he was with it. "I'm not good at much, but I am good at that," he replied, then set off again.

They recommenced their search, still able to hear the roar of gunfire even indoors. Although in the midst of their search of some locker rooms attached to the side of the pool area, it died off abruptly. Something about that whole thing worried him, but he had no idea what. Hopefully they'd put down whatever it was and were rallying. Maybe they were preparing an extraction point. God, he hoped so. Getting out of here would be fantastic. Even if it was just some camp in the desert, it'd be a million times better than this hellhole.

They finished searching the locker room, the pool area, and a pair of saunas they came across. And began to find more and more examples of a military sweep. There were lines of rounds stitched into the walls and a _lot_ of dead zombies and alien slaves around. No dead Marines though. Maybe they'd brought their dead with them or, hopefully, they hadn't suffered any casualties. His worry growing, Eric finished his sweep of the pool area and then moved on, slipping out the opposite door and coming to a pair of tennis courts.

Eric's hopes swelled as he looked through the chainlink, across the blacktop parking lot, to the three story parking garage sitting across the way. It was maybe a hundred and fifty feet away from where he was right now.

"Thank God," Vanessa whispered.

"Let's get there," Eric replied, stepping out.

They were so close now. Evidence of the military was stronger than ever. There had to be a couple of dozen dead monsters out here, scattered across the parking lot. Most of them were zombies, but he saw a few alien slaves, some bullsquids, and a lot of headcrabs. Where had all the Marines actually gone? Maybe they'd gotten some kind of emergency backup call and had to leave in a hurry. He suddenly wondered if they'd already extracted the other survivors he'd been in contact with. On the one hand, he hoped so, because it meant they got out. On the other hand, he hoped not, because it meant they'd missed their shot.

The trio hurried across the corpse-littered lot, stepping over or around dead bodies and sometimes through pools of alien or mutant or demon blood. Within about a minute, they were at the broad entrance of the parking garage. As soon as Eric crossed the threshold, a wave of gunsmoke and spilled blood and death hit him. It was powerful and he hesitated. What had happened? He checked his forward motion, coming to a halt a few feet inside the garage. Something was really wrong here. His instincts were yelling at him.

What?

He scanned the area, looking for clues.

"What's wrong?" Steven asked. "Why'd we stop?"

"Shh," Eric replied curtly.

He kept looking around the area. There were several dead zombies and headcrabs, a pair of alien slave corpses, and…

A dead security guard.

He moved over to the man, keeping his eyes peeled, and then crouched by the body. Although he immediately saw something wrong.

"Oh crap," he whispered.

The man had not been killed by claws, nor by headcrab, nor by acid, nor by energy discharge. This man had clearly died of a gunshot to the eye. His right eye was a gaping, bloody socket and he had a look of great surprise permanently etched onto his face. A death mask. Vanessa and Steven joined him quickly and quietly.

"He was shot," Vanessa whispered. "Why would that be? What happened?"

"It must've been friendly fire," Eric replied. "Maybe he came down to greet them, they were too amped up by contact with actual monsters, and he...surprised them. And they shot him on accident. It happens. No one likes to admit it, but it does happen."

"Jesus," Steven muttered quietly.

"Come on, we need to keep going."

Suddenly, he desperately wanted to see the other survivors. He had to know that they were there, that they were okay, still waiting for him. He shot to his feet and began jogging across the parking garage, ignoring the other corpses.

"What's going on?" Steven asked as they hurried after him.

"I just need to see they're okay," he replied, coming to a stairwell that would take him all the way up so he didn't have to jog up the pair of ramps cars would normally take. For a moment, there was just the three of them breathing heavily, their shoes banging on the metal stairs as they ran up two flights and burst out through the door at the top.

Onto a scene of fresh horror.

"Oh my..." Vanessa whispered, then trailed off.

"What-" Steven began, then he suddenly turned and vomited.

As Eric stared out over the field of dead bodies, the pools and sprays of extremely fresh blood, he realized, slowly, that his diligence in searching, even though he'd been hasty to finish his hunt through the pool area, probably had saved his life. Because if he had said _hell with it_ and just headed on over to the parking garage, he, Vanessa, and Steven would have been slaughtered by the Marine forces, just like everyone else here had.

And it was obvious that's what had happened.

Everyone in here, and the room was filled with, exclusively, human beings, had been shot to death. And it was obvious that the Marines had done it, because there was a dead Marine not far from where he was, his bulletproof vest peppered with holes, and one bloody hole was in his forehead.

They'd been shooting at each other.

"Why?" Steven asked softly.

"I'm not sure," Eric replied just as quietly. Suddenly, he heard someone groan. He looked around, trying to pinpoint the survivor. The place was fairly open. He saw a few foldout tables and chairs littered with used medical supplies on one end and mostly empty food and drink containers on the other end. In between them sat a bulky, square radio setup. It must have been how he'd managed to get in contact with Jackson.

There were only two vehicles in the area, and they were pushed together near the entrance to the top level, forming a rudimentary barricade. They'd obviously seen a lot of damage. There was a recessed area, off to the right of where he and the others had come in through. That seemed to be where the groaning was coming from. Eric pulled out his magnum and moved over there. Vanessa and Steven trailed after him, their faces stricken. He came slowly around the corner and spied a man in a security guard's uniform sitting against the far wall.

"Who're you?" he asked, his voice weak. He coughed and then suddenly hawked and spat a thick gob of blood onto the concrete beside him.

Eric recognized the voice immediately. "Eric Bishop. We spoke on the radio."

"Oh...Bishop. Man, you got lucky," he said.

Vanessa rushed over to him. "Hold still," she said, crouching and going for her kit, but he waved her away.

"Don't bother. Lost way too much blood and I'm pretty sure they hit my liver," he muttered, glancing down at where his hand was pressed tight over his stomach. It was extremely bloody. Eric came to stand before the man known to him only as Captain Jackson and crouched, studying him. He looked like hell. He was deathly pale, his face a bit gaunt, unshaven, his eyes bloodshot. He looked pretty big and tough, but that didn't mean much when your liver was shot through with a bullet. "I'm screwed," he said. "But I've got things to tell you."

"What happened?" Eric asked, and after a few more attempts to help him, Vanessa finally, with extreme reluctance, stopped.

Jackson laughed bitterly. "Isn't it obvious? Marines strolled in and blew us away, practically firing squad style. I managed to survive because they thought I was dead. I would've died, they started going around, capping bodies with headshots just to be sure, but then they got some call on the radio and cleared out quick. You must've just missed them. I overheard them. They're here to clean up Black Mesa. _All_ of it. That includes the personnel. Whatever the scientists were into here, it's bad enough news that the US government wants us all dead. So, here's what I need to tell you. Over on the table, by the radio, there's a map. It's got a route on it. Before the military showed up, we had cobbled together a plan-" he cut off, grunting in pain suddenly, turned and spat some more blood out. He forced himself on. "There's an airfield.

"We were gonna get there, take a plane out of here. Follow the route. There's a maintenance hatch in this place, bottom floor. That's where you start."

He stopped speaking suddenly and his head fell forward, chin touching his bloodied chest. He stopped breathing all at once and went slack. All three of them remained there in shocked silence until Steven suddenly turned and began throwing up again, although this time it was largely dry heaves. He coughed and moaned.

"This is insane," Eric whispered. "How are we going to...this is nuts."

"I can fly a plane," Vanessa said suddenly.

He snapped his gaze over to her. "What? You can?"

"Yes. It's something I learned to do for a hobby. I'm guessing they aren't military jets or commercial airliners over there, probably just simple little six seaters or maybe even smaller. I can fly if we can get there."

Eric stared at her for a moment longer. He felt exhausted. It was like the weight of the whole day, of everything that had happened, was pressing down on him all at once. He wanted to sleep, to sit down and not do anything. He wanted this not to be his responsibility any longer. He wanted out. That last thought caught and began dragging him back out of the darkness he was slowly sinking into. He began to nod.

They at least had an out.

"Okay...okay...let's go look at that map. Then we'll need to gather up whatever ammo and supplies we can from this. Then we go...Steven, you gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, then spat a few times. "God, that tastes awful. I just...all these people, man. All these people..."

"I know. Don't think about it, okay? We're going to get out of here."

He swept the room slowly with his gaze, then brought his wide, wet eyes back to Eric. Finally, he slowly nodded.

"Just...keep up with us, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered.

They left Captain Jackson and moved back over to the tables. Eric pointed as he spied the map. "There's a can of Mountain Dew, wash your mouth out," he said.

"Uh-huh," Steven murmured, drifting off towards it.

Eric and Vanessa crowded around the map in question and found their present location on it. Sure enough, someone, presumably Jackson, had charted a route in black marker. "Okay, it looks like the maintenance tunnel he mentioned is going to take us to a hazard course, and then on the other side of that is a freight train yard. Man, that's a big place. But on the other side of that is a fuel depot, and, finally, the airfield."

"That's quite a trip," Vanessa murmured.

"Yeah, but it's not like we got a lot of choices here," Eric replied. He sighed, rubbed his eyes, then turned to regard the field of fresh corpses. "Okay...let's get this over with. We search the dead, then hit the maintenance tunnel."

With that proclamation, he set to the awful task.


	10. CHλPTER 10: Haphazard

_**P**_ _ ** **λ** RT TWO  
**–HOSTILE TERRITORY–_

* * *

"I really wasn't looking forward to going back underground," Eric muttered as he led the way down the tunnel, magnum in hand. As much as he'd been hoping for one, there hadn't been any kind of assault rifle. Really, there'd just been some ammo for the pistols and enough shotgun shells to give him and Vanessa another full load. They'd also gotten her a bulletproof vest. They'd tracked down the maintenance tunnel entrance, which was a grate in the floor that Eric had had to use the crowbar to bash in because it was rusted shut.

And then they'd descended, finding themselves in a narrow, dank, concrete tunnel.

He thought about what he'd just said. It was true, he supposed, but honestly he wasn't sure what he was feeling at the moment. Eric Bishop was adrift, like a fighter pilot who'd ejected and was floating down before the parachute kicked in, or a boat that had slipped its moorings during a storm and was being tossed among the waves.

No thoughts seemed to be able to take hold.

The Marines were here, and they intended to murder him, and his new friends. And his old friends, too, if any of them were still alive.

They intended to murder them all.

This had big ramifications, and made the situation a hell of a lot more difficult to get through. Going up against monsters and aliens was one thing. Simultaneously going up against the United States Marine Corps was another.

Mainly, he was just…

He was having a lot of difficulty with the fact that they were straight up murdering everyone. And yet, even as he thought about it, even as he wanted to reject the notion, he knew he couldn't. And as he thought this, Steven voiced part of it.

"I don't believe it, man. How could they do that?" he said.

"It's their job," Eric replied.

"What? No it the hell isn't! Their job is to protect United States citizens! Not butcher them like cattle, man!"

Eric stopped suddenly and turned around. "No, Steven," he said, staring hard at them both, who had stopped as well, staring back at him with stricken eyes. "Their job is to follow orders. Whatever those orders might be. That's what they train us to do. They don't train us to be free thinkers. In fact, they train us out of it. Our job is to follow orders, plain and simple."

"You keep saying 'us' and 'our'," Vanessa said.

"Would you have done it?" Steven asked. "If they'd ordered you..."

"I want to say no, but...actually, you know what? No, I wouldn't. Why do you think I got kicked out?"

"You were a Marine?" Vanessa pressed.

"I was," he replied. "I refused a direct order. I don't want to get into it."

"How'd you get a job _here,_ then?" she asked.

"Friend of mine got me in. I don't want to talk about it, but I do want to make this real. If we see them...we're going to have to kill them. You understand that, right? I need you to understand that. We're not just fighting monsters or aliens or whatever they are anymore. We will be fighting human beings. And you will have to murder them, because if you don't, they will murder you. And I need to know if you can handle that."

"I can," Vanessa said quietly.

"I-I...I don't know, man," Steven muttered, looking paler than ever. "I mean, we didn't actually see them-"

"Steven," Eric said, raising his voice, forcing the young tech to look at him. "If they see you, they will kill you. They will gun you down in cold blood."

"But how-"

Eric sighed. "I'm not good with words, but I'll tell you two quotes that I heard to kind of sum it up. The first is from Stephen King. 'It's a blood on the floor kind of world.' And the other comes from Rambo. 'When you're pushed, killing's as easy as breathing.' Most people don't know it, but it's shockingly easy to murder someone. I don't mean the technicality of it, how frail the human body is. I mean making yourself do it. We're primal creatures. Not everyone will kill when push comes to shove, but a _lot_ of people will. Most people just don't ever have to get to that point. And what do you think they teach us to do? Kill, because our job might require it. They teach us restraint, but they also teach us to kill. So...yes. They are fully capable of killing us all. They've already gotten started. So...can you handle that, Steven?"

"I...I don't know," he admitted.

"Fine. If the shooting starts, hide. I don't want you getting killed or shot." He turned around and resumed his journey at a brisk pace. At least he felt more focused now.

"I'm sorry," Steven said.

Eric sighed. "It's not your fault, Steven. I'm not mad at you or disappointed in you. This isn't fair, you shouldn't be in this situation. It's not like I _want_ to murder anyone. I'd happily go through my entire life without ever taking someone's life. But that's not realistic, in my shoes. So...I really do mean it. If you can't bring yourself to open fire on them, hide if at all possible. Don't think you need to be brave and prove yourself or anything like that. This isn't a movie. I'm not secretly challenging you or something. I genuinely mean it: hide when you see them."

"Okay...thanks," he murmured.

"You're welcome."

The tunnel came to an end shortly after that in the form of a ladder. Eric mounted and climbed it, wincing. His bicep was really hurting now. He wondered if he'd pulled a stitch. Probably. But it wasn't like he had a lot of choice. Reaching the top, he opened up the hatch and poked his head out. Luck found him again: they'd come to a disused storage room with a closed door. The three of them extracted themselves from the tunnel and Eric opened up the door. He frowned at what he saw: a forest of barnacle tongues hung from the ceiling beyond.

"Ugh," Vanessa muttered. "We'll have to be very careful."

"Yeah," Eric murmured. "This first area should be the running and jumping and climbing portion. We'll go through, nice and easy."

"Don't let those tongues touch you," Vanessa warned.

Eric nodded and set off first. He saw a fairly clear path through the tongues and began to traverse it, wanting to get this part over with. Then again, what part of today hadn't he wanted to just get over with? Well, the very few breaks he'd received, he supposed. Eric felt his whole body tense up as he moved through the hanging tongues. There was a bad smell to them, an awful meaty, organic smell that was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. It was awful. But at least they weren't running at him or shooting energy or spitting acid.

This first area was just the ingress to the hazard course itself. If it was this infested already, he was afraid of what might be waiting for them in the rest of the building. He suddenly wondered how these things had even gotten up there. Did someone, or something, put them there? Did they teleport in? How did these things _function_? Questions for later. Or never, probably. Finally, he came through the sea of tongues.

After doing a quick sweep of the area beyond and finding nothing, he turned and checked the progress of the others. Vanessa was right behind him, just about through. Steven was moving slower. Eric frowned, worried about the kid.

And then he brushed up against one of the tongues.

There was a wet squelching sound and the tongue suddenly snapped up, curling around his arm. He screamed and suddenly was being dragged up, towards the ceiling.

"Help me!" he screamed.

Vanessa turned around, but Eric was already aiming his magnum. He selected the proper flesh mound and squeezed the trigger. The bullet exploded out of the barrel and into the mound, which basically detonated. The tongue went slack, releasing Steven, who hit the floor on his ass. He started to get up.

"Slow!" Eric shouted. "Don't touch the other ones."

Steven froze, then looked around him at the other tongues, then finished getting cautiously to his feet. Vanessa joined Eric and they watched in rapt attention until Steven had joined them as well. "Sorry," he said, slowly releasing the tension in his muscles.

"It's fine. Just...be more careful. Come on," Eric replied.

He led them out of the lobby and down a short corridor, then into the transitional area before the actual course itself. He was familiar enough with hazard courses to remember what this was, basically a place where you could stretch and prepare. It also granted access to what would be the easiest, most direct route through the course. There was a line of windowed rooms that ran alongside the course itself, where the scientists or administrators or whoever it was watched and judged. It led right to the other end.

And, of course, it was locked.

"Steven, can you get this open?" he asked, indicating the door.

"Uh...hold on," he murmured, crouching by the control panel next to the door, which was a bit more high-tech than the usual wooden doors that had simple knobs. Black Mesa was such a patchwork facility. He spent five minutes working on it with the small toolkit he'd been carrying around with him. While he did, Eric took the opportunity to poke around the bathroom. Nothing there worthwhile. He stepped back out and after another few minutes, Steven sighed suddenly and stood up.

"I'm sorry, I can't get through. Maybe if I had another hour or so..."

Eric heaved a frustrated sigh. "We could get through the whole course in that amount of time. Whatever, it doesn't matter. We'll just do this the hard way."

He left the room through the only other doorway, coming to the climbing portion of the hazard course.

"I hate this place," Steven muttered as he stared at the obstacle course.

"It's not so bad," Eric replied as he set off into the chaotic, multi-leveled area.

"Says the ex-Marine who works out like all the time."

"Okay, that's a fair point."

As he began to walk up the ramp that led to the course, something gurgled to his right. Whirling, he raised his pistol and fired as a headcrab launched itself at him from where it was hidden behind a piece of the obstacle course. The bullet hit true and flung it back the way it had come, splattering it all over the wall. "Holy crap, you are a quick shot," Steven said.

"Like I said before," Eric replied, and kept going.

Up ahead, he could hear more gurgling. He hesitated. "You two wait here. Let me clear it first. I think there's more of them hidden up there."

"Fine by me," Steven said.

Eric finished moving up a ramp that led to a platform and then surveyed the area beyond. There were pipes to crawl through and more platforms to climb up and jump across. He sighed and then started going about it in a far different way than he normally did. A different set of skills was being tested this time. He worked his way across the area, trying to check out as many little niches and nooks and crannies as he could, hunting for more of the lurking headcrabs, as he definitely heard more of them.

And more he found.

By the time he reached the end of the room, he'd emptied his magnum twice over.

"Okay, come on over but be careful. I might've missed some!" he called as he put another quick-load of bullets into the cylinder and snapped it shut. Another corridor awaited him ahead. He moved into it, deciding to perform some quick reconnaissance while they navigated the area. It ended a few meters ahead in a sharp right turn and he took it, moving cautiously. Up ahead was, as he predicted, the shooting range. He was really hoping there was going to be a place to restock on ammo. They were encountering monsters at a much higher rate now.

Speaking of which…

As he moved closer to the shooting range, an alien slave suddenly walked into view at the end of the corridor. Cursing, as it had clearly noticed him immediately, he took aim. As he fired, splattering the thing's viscera all over the place, a second one ran into view and started charging up its attack. He shifted aim and squeezed the trigger once more at about the exact same time it released its bolt of green energy. His aim was true and his shot was sure.

So was the alien slave's.

It took a bullet right in the middle of its big red eye, and he took a bolt of energy straight in the chest. Eric cried out as he was flung backwards, the sheer force of the blast sending him stumbling and smacking painfully into the wall there. Energy crackled across the vest and he felt a brief jolt sizzle through his body.

"What's happening?!" Vanessa called.

"Just..." he groaned, clenching his teeth, his whole body reacting to the surge of alien energy. It felt awful, but he knew he'd survive. Probably. The vest had taken the brunt of the blast and wasn't all that conductive. By the time he managed to push himself back up off the wall he was leaning against, Vanessa and Steven had finished navigating the course and were approaching.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"Alien slave," he replied. "Got me in the chest. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. And we don't really have time for a checkup. Come on. Shooting range is next," Eric replied, and set off once again.

The others trailed in his wake. This time, he was more cautious as he stepped into the room beyond. No more alien slaves in the immediate area, but there were definitely signs of struggle. Bullet holes tattooing the walls, blood stains, several Marine corpses mixed in with alien slaves. They kept going, moving through the first shooting gallery, then a second one, where they encountered a collection of zombies, Marine zombies, milling about. Eric and Vanessa raised their weapons and opened fire on the herd of monsters.

He emptied his pistol again and reloaded his last collection of bullets for it.

"Obviously they had a big presence here," he murmured as he looked around the second shooting range. It was set up similarly to basically all the others he'd seen so far: a long concrete room with booths of wood near one end. Although the Marines had torn down several of the booths, opening up a rough doorway that granted easy access to the rest of the room, which was about sixty or seventy feet long. Here, they had set up what might have been a temporary command post. There were close to two dozen corpses spread out, a mix of Marines, alien slaves, and zombies, with a sprinkling of headcrabs and even a few houndeyes.

"They must have been hit hard," Steven murmured. "God, it reeks in here."

"It does," Eric agreed. "Start searching the bodies. Find whatever you can."

They set to it and Eric moved deeper into the room. The place was a chaotic mess of foldout tables and chairs and shelves and crates. He imagined a few dozen Marines hustling around, getting it all broken out of crates and set up quickly, trying to get on top of the situation as fast as possible. The tables were scattered with radio equipment, tools, spare parts, half-eaten meals, papers, guns, ammo, knives, and a random collection of other things.

He found a Desert Eagle. Actually, he found a few. After a moment's hesitation, he abandoned the revolver for the Eagle. The revolver was nice to have, but he imagined ammo would probably be scarce, whereas clearly it was the sidearm of choice for these guys, and he also imagined that he'd be seeing a lot more of the Marines. Although if at all possible, he'd prefer not to. In this moment, however, he was at least happy.

This place was a goldmine, a field of fresh death, ripe for harvest.

"Who wants a Desert Eagle?" he asked, holding up a second sidearm.

"I barely trust myself with this thing," Steven said, lightly tapping the pistol in its holster on his belt.

"I'll take it," Vanessa said. She joined him and accepted the weapon.

"It kicks like a mule," he said as she crouched and began detaching another holster from a dead Marine.

"Noted," she replied.

He continued his search and managed a decent haul: six magazines of ammo for the Eagle, a combat knife, another full load of shotgun shells, a working flashlight, and a pair of fragmentation grenades. No assault rifles, though. The few that he did find were all damaged in one way or another. Once everything was secure, they left the derelict and bloodied military outpost behind.

"This," Eric said as he ignored the rest of the hazard course and instead opened up a door at the back, "is where we need to go next. There's another maintenance tunnel we need to take that will cut through a lot of BS and drop us at the freight yards."

"Man, it's dark," Steven muttered.

"This should fix that," Eric said, reaching out as he spied a series of light switches. He flicked the first one. It let out a sharp, resounding click, but failed to deliver any of the promised light. Frowning, he tried the next one, and the next one. "Crap."

"Power must be out," Vanessa murmured.

"That's bad. We need power to be on in this section. We have to take another elevator down to the maintenance area..." He pulled out his flashlight and turned it on, then pointed it down the hallway ahead of him. Something lay at the end. He studied it, and realized he was looking at a dead Marine. "They came this way..."

"Maybe they had a similar idea," Vanessa said.

"That means they might have some knowledge on it...hold on." He backtracked quickly to the outpost and tracked down what he'd seen earlier: a map of the building. Grabbing it, and another pair of flashlights, he returned to the others and placed it flat against the floor. They all crouched over it. "Here's us now," he said, pointing, then dragged his finger over to another portion of the area. "There's the elevator. And here is a generator. I'm guessing that's what they were going for."

"And obviously they ran into something in there," Steven muttered.

"Obviously," Eric agreed. "But we have to go this way." He handed them each a flashlight. "It's this or a lot more surface walking, caught in the middle of two sides who want to kill us as much as they want to kill each other."

Steven sighed. "Yeah. This just feels like...a horror game, but this part is honestly terrifying and I just don't want to do it."

"Like that level in Dead Space where the Hunter first starts coming after you?"

"Yes!" Steven said, his eyes lighting up. "Exactly like that!"

"It sucks, but we've gotta do it," Eric said, and Steven sighed again and nodded. "This is the shortest route between here and the generator, and the generator and the lift. Memorize it."

He took his own advice and memorized the route. It was, at least, decently simple. Down the initial corridors, then through the second door on the right in a big room that seemed to serve as a central nexus. And there was the generator. From there, a few corridors that snaked away to the left would lead to the elevator.

"Let's go," he said, folding up the map and pocketing it, just in case.

"What actually is this place?" Steven muttered as Eric began to lead them down the initial corridor.

"Storage. What else?" he replied.

"Half of Black Mesa is storage, I swear to God," Vanessa muttered.

They stepped over the dead Marine, as well as a pair of dead zombies not too far away. Judging by the claw marks, (and the dead creatures), it was obvious what had killed him. He said as much to the others and pulled out his Desert Eagle, holding it in one hand while gripping the flashlight with the other. Stepping over the zombie corpses, he came to the end of the hallway and stood at the threshold of the larger room. Somewhere, a zombie moaned. Eric played his light quickly across the big room. Boxes and shelves huddled along the perimeter, but he could see no hostiles. No living ones, anyway. Dead bodies from Marines and zombies lay scattered across the metal plate flooring, each in their own pool of shiny blood.

"Come on," he whispered, setting off for the second door to the right. "I'm going to be counting on you to get this going, Steven."

"I'll go as fast as I can," Steven murmured in reply.

They reached the door and he opened it cautiously. Or tried to. At first he thought it was locked, but then he realized something was leaning against it. Grunting with effort, he shoved it open, and at last it gave with the sound of something shifting around beyond. He stood at the end of a short alcove, a dead Marine at his feet, and a dead zombie further along. The Marine must have taken too much damage, tried to run, then passed out from blood loss against the door after killing the zombie. What an awful place to die.

"Stay here," Eric murmured, and moved down the alcove.

He carefully cleared the small room beyond, but the only thing it held was the generator itself. He came back out. "Steven, do your job."

"On it," he whispered, and disappeared into the gloom.

Eric looked at Vanessa. "Will you keep watch?"

"What are you going to do?"

"A little recon, see if the way to the elevator is clear," Eric replied.

"Fine. Don't take too long."

"I won't. Believe me, I don't want to be alone. This place is so goddamned creepy," he muttered, looking around again.

The flashlights didn't do a lot to push back the midnight sea of shadows around them. The place had him jumpy and he felt the urge to keep progressing. So that's what he did, moving over to the entrance that would take him to the elevator. He didn't get very far. Maybe a dozen steps into the hallway, he suddenly caught movement at its end, and a zombie shuffled into sight. Muttering a curse, he raised his pistol, then hesitated. Maybe he should wait before firing off a round and alerting all the other potential hostiles in the area-

The zombie saw him (smelled him? It didn't have eyes...did it?) and let out a loud moan, then started coming right for him, arms raised.

"Crap," he muttered, and popped off a shot.

The pistol did its job, putting a decent sized hole into the headcrab latched onto the poor bastard's face, and the zombie dropped like a bag of bricks. Suddenly, from ahead and behind, he began to hear wailing moans.

"Crap!" he hissed.

Another zombie came into view at the end of the hall, and another, and another. He fired off another few shots while simultaneously backing up, trying to get back to the main room. The second zombie went down near the first, and then the next two had their brains splattered all over the walls. "Left!" Vanessa yelled at him as he reentered the main room. Spinning left, Eric barely managed to get his pistol up in time and snap off a shot as another zombie wearing tattered camo came for him. Unfortunately, as he put it down, he saw that a dozen more had shown up.

"You really kicked up a goddamned hornet's nest!" Vanessa snapped, then fired off her shotgun, decapitating a zombie coming from the other direction. Eric didn't respond, instead aiming and firing off the last few shots in his pistol. As he hit the eject button and went to reload, he dropped his flashlight. Cursing and abandoning it for now, he slapped a fresh magazine in and opened fire once more. The zombies advanced on him in the flashes of his muzzle flare, reaching for him with long-fingered hands, moaning and stumbling and mindless. He emptied the pistol a second time, listening to Vanessa behind him as she ran through her shotgun shells, and then she joined him in firing off her own Desert Eagle.

Eric was trying to not to panic, but this was a pretty stressful situation. The darkness, the wild flashing and loud banging of the pistols sounding off, the moaning of the zombies as they advanced with a relentless determination, the way the darkness seemed to create a shell of claustrophobia. It all pressed in on him and he began missing his shots. Eric ran through another two magazines in the Eagle, his hands shaking, and as the gun clicked empty again, the last zombie in his field of vision dropped dead, shot through its malformed head.

He spun around as he grabbed for another magazine, hunting for more. As he did, Vanessa fired off another shot and dropped the last zombie. She was standing a little inside of the alcove that led to the generator. In the wan light of their flashlights, they stared at each other, breathing heavily, eyes wide and wild.

"I-I think that's all of them," she said.

"Yeah," Eric replied. Suddenly, all the lights flared to life. He cried out in shock and blinked rapidly, trying to get his vision back.

"Is...is it okay out there?" Steven asked.

Eric took another moment to look around as he finished reloading. "Um...yeah. Come on, let's get the hell out of here."

Vanessa emerged into the main room, and Steven joined her a moment later. "Holy crap," he whispered, looking around at all the dead zombies.

"You okay?" Vanessa asked.

"Yeah...yeah. Just a little...that was a bit much."

"You need a break?"

He shook his head. "No. Um...I need some air, I think. Let's just keep going. I'll feel better once we're back outside. Hopefully."

She just nodded and fell silent.

After another long moment, Eric silently began heading for the elevator.


	11. CHλPTER 11: Freight Yard Mayhem

"Man, it doesn't sound good out there," Steven whispered.

"No, it doesn't. Might be our best chance to go," Eric replied.

"Or it might be a terrible time to go," Vanessa pointed out.

Eric grunted in assent, still considering the situation. They'd made it through the maintenance tunnels without a problem, and as soon as they'd emerged back on the surface in the back of an old storage room, it had become quickly apparent how bad the fighting had gotten. There was a lot of machine gun fire out there, and a few explosions had gone off.

"I at least need to do some recon," Eric decided. "Stay here, but be ready to run if I say run."

"Understood," Vanessa said, and Steven just nodded, looking sick.

Eric moved over to the door and opened it up. He scoped the situation out as fast as he could from his vantage point, trying not to be too visible. It looked like hell out there. There were a good dozen Marines spread out across the area, most of them armed with assault rifles, the rest with shotguns. They were having a shootout with a cluster of alien slaves. This was actually perfect. Eric had emerged in a back corner of a huge shipping area which was largely empty. Railroad tracks crisscrossed a gravel and dirt yard, but there were no trains or carts or anything around, just a few shipping containers stacked against a few of the walls.

The way they needed to go, through a tunnel that was currently closed, was dead ahead of them. If they could slink along the wall, get to that tunnel, and get the door open, then they'd be about halfway through the yards. And there was even a rough line of concrete barriers and metal crates nearby to provide them with some cover!

This might actually work.

"Get over here now," he said to the others. When they joined him, he pointed. "That's our cover. Keep low and fast. We're going to the tunnel. Follow my lead."

They both responded affirmatively. Eric took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This was going to be a bastard. He studied the Marines. One of them went down under a combination of green energy blasts as he was watching. Another screamed as a bolt winged him and sent him stumbling. Good, they had their hands full.

Eric set off, keeping his eyes on the battlefield as he started slinking as fast as he could. He kept it all in his head, just a simple set of commands for himself: stay low, go fast, get to the other side. Right now, that was literally all that mattered. His focus honed down to a narrow beam and he kept catching glimpses of the squad of Marines duking it out with the alien slaves. There were a lot of them, though their numbers were definitely beginning to thin out. Their yellow blood was splattering all over the place and several of their bolts of energy discharged in wild, random directions as they died or lost control of them.

Another Marine went down, then another.

He so, so badly wanted to get through this without putting a bullet into a fellow human, let alone a fellow Marine. Despite the atrocities they'd committed so far, he still had an extreme distaste for having to kill them, even in self defense. Maybe, if he was very lucky and very careful, he could get out of this situation without-

Eric glanced at the door to the tunnel and saw that it was rapidly opening. He cursed and stopped suddenly, holding up his fist, making the others freeze. They'd made it maybe halfway. He quickly spotted another squad of Marines coming to back up the first. There were a good half dozen of them and right as he was trying to duck down out of sight and just wait them out, one of them locked eyes with him.

Although he was a good distance away, he still heard the man scream " _HOSTILES!_ "

Before the one who'd raised the alarm could open fire, Eric beat him to the punch, putting a round right through his gasmask with his Desert Eagle. His head snapped back and sprayed the others with blood, who immediately opened fire.

"Down! Down!" Eric screamed and emptied the magazine at them. He managed to wing one of them in the shoulder, doing enough damage to send him stumbling back a few feet, but the rest of his rounds went wild or hit their armor. He ducked back behind cover and reloaded. Vanessa aimed and fired, popping off several controlled shots. He heard someone scream. Well, she hadn't been lying, she could definitely do this.

As she ran dry and Eric finished reloading, he resumed fire. The Marines were scrambling for cover, peppering his position with gunfire. And then a new source of gunfire appeared from his right as he finished unloading a second magazine. The initial squad was clued into them now, too! Damn, this was beginning to look really bad. Slapping in his third, and final, magazine, he waited for Vanessa to finish off her own bullets. This wasn't going to work. Between the two of them, they'd only managed to take down five of them so far, and there were still a good ten or so out there. It would only be a matter of time before one of them got a lucky shot or they overwhelmed them or even threw a damned grenade.

Maybe he could do that. Turn the tables, throw his grenades, buy them enough time to fall back to the maintenance tunnels and find another way through…

What the hell was that sound?

A low, deep thrumming was beginning to fill the area, resonating through the air and making his bones rattle. The gunfire hesitated, becoming more sparse, then fell off entirely. The sound was getting almost unbearable.

And then he caught movement, high and to his right.

Three... _things_ were hovering in the air. They looked like...a little like manta rays, though a bit more stunted maybe. Eric stared with wide eyes in unabashed confusion and terror. They were roughly the size of fighter jets and were hovering maybe thirty feet over the ground. They didn't _look_ like jets, though. They looked alive. More aliens?! What the hell was he looking at!? They flew in formation, covered in some kind of rough hide, definitely like a living thing. Suddenly, machine gun fire stabbed out at it from the ground.

Then other barrages of bullets joined in.

They seemed to be absorbed by the strange creatures.

And then something completely brand new happened. Yet another unexpected twist. Big, bulky creatures started falling out of the mantas in purple flashes of light. They dropped and smashed heavily into the ground, where they promptly stood up and began wreaking havoc. They were huge. Easily seven feet tall, and from what he could see, they were broad, built like freaking linebackers or gorillas! They had almost the same color skin as the alien slaves, but they were more humanoid, stood more upright, and even had armor on their shoulders, upper torso, and head. Each of them had some bulky protrusion over their right arms.

As he watched, they each raised these protrusions, aiming them at any nearby Marines like weapons, and opened fire. A strange, sharp buzzing noise began to fill the air as strange, slow-moving projectiles were ejected from the barrels of the enigmatic weapons. Well, slow compared to bullets. They left yellow trails as they flew through the air, and seemed to be attracted to the Marines, following them as they fled, falling back, trying to regroup and open fire on the monsters all at the same time.

The sound reminded him strangely of bees or hornets.

"What the hell are those?" Vanessa whispered with a dreamlike horror.

"Stay down," Eric muttered. He was in shock, this new development so completely unexpected that his mind didn't know how to react beyond saying those words. Then a stray round punched him in the vest and he fell on his ass, and there he stayed. All three of them hunkered down, waiting, listening to the chaotic automatic fire, screaming, roaring, the strange hornet sounds, and the occasional explosion.

The battle went on for what felt like a very long time, but probably wasn't much longer than maybe sixty seconds. When Eric finally made himself peer back up over the safety of the concrete barrier, he saw one of those huge things still left standing. He quickly aimed his Eagle at it. As he did, it turned around suddenly and prepared to return fire. Eric unloaded on it, emptying his pistol one more time before it could get a shot off. It let out a loud, long groan and collapsed onto its back. And then all was still and silent in the freight yard.

" _What_ was _that?_ " Steven asked after several seconds of unbroken silence.

"I have no goddamned idea," Eric muttered. "New players entering the field, I guess..." He blinked a few times, shook his head, had to actually smack himself to get himself to focus. "Come on, we need those weapons and to keep moving."

"Yeah...that's a good idea," Vanessa murmured.

Slowly, the trio came out and began moving across the battlefield, searching the dead for ammo. Eric felt the shock he was experiencing wear off a bit as he finally locked eyes with one of the machine guns the Marines had been carrying. As he snagged it, he studied it, seeing that it was an M4A1. And it even had an underslung grenade launcher! _That_ was going to be useful. He let his shotgun hang across his back and checked over the rifle. Finding it in working order, he checked the magazine, found it empty and tossed it.

They took a few minutes to police up whatever they could find. The Marines had clearly gone through a lot of ammo fighting off the forces they had eventually fallen to, but even still, they managed to get another machine gun for Vanessa, (Steven opted out of having one as well, and Eric had kind of hoped he would, given his current condition, both physically and mentally), a few more grenades, and a stack of ammo for the rifles.

The three of them paused briefly to study one of the corpses of the latest addition to the list of things that wanted them dead, but Eric ended up not wanting to linger. Besides wanting to get a move on, this thing was starting to freak him out.

So, with that out of the way, they quickly moved over to the tunnel they'd been planning on moving through in the first place.

"This is getting out of control," Vanessa said quietly as they traversed the tunnel. It was made of concrete, and a good fifty meters in length. It was also pretty well lit and clear of both blockage and hostiles, as far as they could tell.

"Definitely," Eric agreed. "Those things...did they resemble anything to you?"

"The ones on the ground? Yeah. They looked like the slaves. Kind of," Vanessa murmured. "And their weapons...they looked almost fused to their flesh. It's like these things exist to fight and kill and nothing else."

"I'd say that's about right," Steven muttered.

"So what the hell are they? Where are they coming from? It's like whenever a new piece of the puzzle gets revealed, it changes the fundamental shape of the puzzle as a whole," Vanessa said.

"The shape's the same," Eric replied, trying to shake off the terror he was feeling from seeing those things in the skies and the new, bulky monsters. "We kill our way out of here. What should we call the new ones? First thing that popped into my head when I saw those flying things was 'manta'."

"Sounds good," Vanessa replied. "I guess it's my turn. Since they resemble the alien slaves, and they're obviously much closer to a military role...alien grunts?" she suggested.

"Fine," Eric said. "Okay, shift over to the right side and take it slow. There might be more hostiles in the next area."

They were getting closer to the end of the tunnel. Although he didn't hear anything obviously threatening, Eric still felt urged to exercise an abundance of caution. It had served him pretty well so far in Black Mesa. He crept up to the edge of the tunnel and surveyed the area beyond, rifle tightly in hand. He'd managed to find just two grenades for the underslung launcher and had loaded up one of them, but it was now looking like he wouldn't have anything to use it on. At least not here. The way ahead was a slaughterhouse, very similar to the place they'd just come from, although it was a bit more packed with stuff.

There were a few actual boxcars around and more shipping containers, a field of corpses, including, he was shocked to see, one of those mantas. It had crashed into a boxcar and was now a smoking wreck. As he wondered how the hell they'd brought it down, his eyes came to rest on a tank. A tank! They had brought a goddamned Abrams tank! Man, either they had come in with overkill on the brain...or they'd known ahead of time just how bad this was going to get. Well, if he'd been told he was going to be fighting genuine aliens, Eric figured he'd honestly want access to a tank as well. He finished surveying the area.

"There," he said, pointing to a door across the way, a good two hundred, maybe two hundred and fifty feet away. "That's where we need to go. That will lead to the fuel depot. And then, right on the other side of that, is the airfield."

"And hopefully a plane I can fly," Vanessa replied.

Eric nodded and set off. They stopped occasionally to check the corpses of the Marines, who had been slaughtered by more alien grunts and alien slaves. He didn't know if they'd killed each other off, or if the surviving forces had move onto a different area, because this place was deserted. As he made his way across the wasteland of the Black Mesa freight yards, something big shifted ahead of them. He hesitated, seeing the partially charred remains of the manta that had crashed bulge suddenly. As he watched, trying to reconfirm that he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing, it happened again, more strongly this time.

"What the hell-" Vanessa began.

Eric aimed his rifle and watched in growing horror as the leathery hide of the manta began to rip and split open.

A fresh horror was birthed.

He fell back a few steps, staring as a new wave of cold terror saturated his whole body, bearing witness to the latest atrocity Black Mesa had decided to throw at him. It was _big_. Easily the biggest thing they'd ever actually faced so far. It was an ugly yellow-green in color and as it began stumbling down the side of the manta towards solid ground, he got a basic idea of its rough shape. It was a tripod like creature, with three severely bent legs supporting a big, bulbous head. A kind of tentacle nest hung from the bottom, like some sick parody of a cow's udder. As it attempted to right itself, it offered a long, wailing moan, not unlike a whale.

Eric squeezed the secondary trigger on the rifle, sending a grenade launching through the air. The creature suddenly went rigid and at the last second, the grenade flew to its left, smashing into the remains of the manta. The resulting explosion sent it stumbling once more, but clearly didn't do enough damage.

"What was that?!" Vanessa asked.

"Scatter! Take it down!" Eric yelled, loading up the next grenade and launching it as well. As with before, at the last second it flew away, this time up over the creature, exploding harmlessly across the wall behind it.

What was it, telekinetic?!

He glanced back and saw Vanessa moving in the opposite direction, readying her rifle. Steven, however, had frozen.

"Steven!" Eric screamed. "Move!"

Steven was just staring at the huge creature with unabashed terror, his eyes wide and blank. Eric began to scream at him again, but suddenly Steven collapsed. Was he dead!? Had it killed him somehow!? Praying that he'd just passed out from fear, Eric returned his attention to the creature and opened fire. Vanessa joined him, both of them peppering it with machine gun fire, and several of the rounds were hitting, but they didn't seem to be doing any damage. Eric ejected as soon as he ran out of ammo and as he reloaded, he suddenly thought about tossing one of his grenades. But what would that do? Obviously he couldn't throw it faster than the underslung launcher could shoot it. So...could he launch a grenade even faster than that?

Eric looked around suddenly and his eyes snapped to the tank.

And he had an idea.

"Vanessa! Keep it busy!" he screamed, and then turned and began sprinting towards the tank. He knew just enough about them to be able to launch a shell. Let's see that big alien bastard try to dodge a damned tank round!

Vanessa kept up the gunfire, and at one point he heard an explosion, so she must have thrown one of the grenades they'd recovered from the previous battlefield. And then there he was, at the tank. Eric scrambled up onto it. Had to do this _fast_. And basically just hope that it was loaded and ready to fire. And that he remembered what he was doing. Slinging his ass down into the seat, he grabbed the controls and began swinging the huge barrel around towards the tripod terror, which was in the process of picking up a crate with, evidently, nothing but the use of its mind. It flung it at Vanessa, who barely managed to dodge out of the way.

Definitely telekinetic.

How was that a thing?!

He finished zeroing the sights on the creature and right as he fired, it began to pick up a much bigger crate. But before it could get it up more than a few inches off the ground, the tank round shrieked across the open area, covering the distance in less than the blink of an eye, and he was right: it sure as hell couldn't toss this projectile out of the way! The tank round struck it dead on and the entire area was splattered with its alien entrails.

Sighing with relief, Eric got back up out of the tank and hopped lightly onto the ground. He then remembered that Steven had passed out and went to locate the kid. He was still where he'd been, though he wasn't moving.

"Crap," Eric muttered, and started jogging. "You okay!?" he called to Vanessa, who was further off and slowly getting to her feet.

"Just fine," she replied, then groaned. "Definitely starting to get too old for this crap."

"What is the right age for fighting alien monsters and your own military?" Eric asked.

"Good point. Though probably not in your early forties."

He crouched by Steven and began trying to bring him around. "Come on, wake up, Steven," he muttered, shaking him. Steven began mumbling, and by the time Vanessa came over he had opened his eyes. He laid there blinking for several moments.

"Is it dead?" he asked.

"Yeah. What happened? Did you faint?" Eric replied.

"I think so, but...it was like, when I looked at that thing, it looked back at me. Like, it was looking at me. And everything else just began to drop away. I didn't hear anything else, I didn't see anything else, just it. Like tunnel vision. And it was whispering to me, I think..."

"What did it say?" Vanessa asked.

"I have no idea. It wasn't in English, I at least know that much. Then it went dark...uh, how'd you kill it?"

"Tank," Eric replied, pointing.

Steven followed his finger. "Whoa. Cool."

"Yep. You good to go?"

"Yeah...yeah. I'm good to go."

"Okay, great. We should get out of here before something _else_ shows up," Eric said, looking around the body-strewn wasteland.

They helped Steven up and began to head for the exit.


	12. CHλPTER 12: Military Intelligence

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Eric whispered.

"Well," Vanessa said from behind him, glancing over his shoulder, "it _is_ called fuel storage."

Eric sighed softly and continued staring down the alcove of space that was ahead of him, created between twin rows of stacked, bright silver-and-red barrels of fuel. They said so themselves, each of them stamped with big, bold lettering that proclaimed: **FUEL**.

"We _have_ to go through here?" Steven asked softly.

"Yes, we do. This is the most direct route to the airfield. In fact, that door down there, all the way at the end, basically lets out onto the airfield itself," Eric replied.

"This is incredibly risky," Vanessa murmured.

"We don't know if anything's in there," Eric replied.

"Exactly," Vanessa said.

From somewhere ahead, a zombie groaned. Eric sighed again, more loudly. "Great. Well, now we know, at least."

"Maybe we should consider the alternate route," Vanessa said.

"After what happened back at the freight yards, I think this might actually be less dangerous." He kept staring at the dozens upon dozens of fuel barrels. "Probably..."

Neither responded to him. The implication was clear: it was his decision to make. This was one of those situations where he really wished he didn't have to be in charge. After a few seconds, he realized that he was just delaying the inevitable by pretending to waffle about it.

"Okay," he said, and he flipped the safety on his machine gun and let it hang, then did the same for his shotgun, "we're going through. Under no circumstances is a trigger to be pulled. No guns fired. Only melee. Do you understand me?" he asked, turning to look at them.

They both nodded slowly, then began to flip the safeties on. He finished by putting the safety on his pistol, reholstering it, and then pulling out the combat knife that he'd grabbed from one of the dead Marines. "Steven, you still got that wrench?"

"Yeah," Steven replied.

"Be prepared to use it, but honestly, we're going to try and hurry through and avoid conflict at all costs. Do not touch the barrels, stay away from them as much as possible. I'm going to go first, wait for me to make some distance, then you go Vanessa, then Steven. Try not to get too close to each other. If we are going to have to fight, it's going to be brutal, and I don't want to accidentally stab either one of you. Okay...questions?"

There were none. Eric nodded. "Let's do this."

He moved up to the threshold between the corridor he was standing in and the fuel storage facility. For a few seconds he stood there, staring down the length of the room, trying to judge its distance. It had to be a good hundred and fifty feet.

Damn, this was going to suck.

Gripping the knife tightly, he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then stepped into the room beyond. Already, he could smell the powerful, pungent reek of fuel and it got worse as he started striding down the room, trying to get to that door as fast as he could. There were gaps in the barrels to the left and the right, likely mini-alcoves or access points to other areas in the room. The direct way ahead was clear, but that didn't mean much right now. His whole body tensing in anticipation, Eric kept walking, making for that far door.

Towards freedom.

He heard Vanessa start walking. Seconds seemed to be taking whole minutes to go by, stretching out painfully.

Something groaned up ahead, and then a zombie stepped out right in his path.

"Damn," he whispered.

It started coming directly towards him. Eric brought the knife back, preparing himself. This was going to have to be both swift and accurate. He wait two seconds as the zombie came towards him, then stepped forward, practically into its arms. As it prepared to swipe at him with those long, razor-like fingers, he jabbed the blade directly into the headcrab's body as hard as he could. The zombie froze up, and as he yanked it back out, it dropped to the floor. Eric let out his breath in a long exhalation. Okay, so, he could do this.

Which was good, because he heard more zombies.

He kept going, moving forward to meet them. Keep it steady, keep it tight, he told himself. Another zombie stepped out and he moved forward in two quick steps, then stabbed it through the face as he had the other one. This one let out a squeal and went down as he tore his blade out in a spray of yellow-red blood. Another three had joined him in the corridor, and behind him, he could hear Vanessa fighting as well.

Great. This was _not_ going as he had hoped.

Eric stepped forward and jabbed the blade into the third zombie. It had the desired effect, only this time he couldn't yank it out. Instead, the zombie yanked it out of his grasp as it dropped to the floor. The blade had become embedded in the thing's skull. Talk about bad luck. With no other recourse, Eric freed the strangely painted black-and-white crowbar from his belt, raised it, and brought it down as hard as he could on the skull of the next zombie coming for him. There was a sickening crunch and a spray of blood, but the grasping terror merely staggered. Letting out a shout of exertion, he repeated the action, spraying his bulletproof vest with more monster blood. That did it. The zombie went down, joining the others.

Eric kept going, as another two zombies had joined him.

His arm rose and fell furiously as he beat the zombies down as fast as he could, staying clear of the rows of large, shiny fuel barrels. Even striking one of them might be enough to set them off. Eric brought his crowbar down one more time, and with another sharp crack, the final zombie fell. Breathing heavily, sweating now, he looked around frantically, seeing if any other hostiles had wandered in while he was busy.

All he saw was Vanessa pulling her knife out of a zombie corpse.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Fine," Vanessa replied.

"Y-yeah," Steven said.

"Okay, let's get the hell-" A loud hum began to fill the air. "Oh crap, come on! Come on!" he said, beckoning urgently at them. The pair began hurrying over the bodies to get to him. Eric turned and started running. He'd made it about halfway so far. He knew what that hum meant: one of those alien slaves was preparing to teleport in. Or more. Stepping over the corpses he'd made, Eric finally hit steady ground and started running.

He almost made it.

There was a flash of light dead ahead of him and an alien slave popped into existence. Partially blinded by the light, Eric realized he had no choice: he kept on running. There was just barely enough time to bring the crowbar up and then smash it down onto the oddly-shaped skull of the alien slave. There was a horrible, wet crunch and the thing let out an awful sound of fury or pain, probably both. It tried to slash at him with its claws as he smashed into it, but it quickly lost its balance and both of them went tumbling.

Eric scrambled to get at least partially upright. He had to kill this thing, and kill it right now. If it let off an energy discharge in here, it could kill them all. He finally managed to get onto his knees and he brought the crowbar down on it several times, the horrible crunching sounds filling his ears as blood splashed across the area.

Finally, he was left gasping for breath and shaky with adrenaline. Not wanting to be here if anything _else_ showed up, he lurched to his feet and kept going. Crossing the last of the distance, he hit the door and opened it up.

"Come on!" he called, squinting into the bright sunlight.

The door led outside, and as he stepped out, he immediately heard a lot of sounds he didn't want to: orders being shouted, machinery running, pounding footsteps. Everything seemed to happen really fast after that. As his vision slid into focus, he saw a concrete barrier directly ahead of him and moved forward to duck behind it, hissing for the others to get down. At the same time, he swept the area with his gaze.

They had indeed come to the airfield.

And it was completely under the control of the United States Marine Corps. He could see dozens of figures, most of them gathered across the way, at the far end of the field where a control tower and a few buildings sat. But there were others that were closer, a few squads out on patrol maybe, sweeping the area for hostiles.

And planes, he saw a few planes. There was a big cargo plane that clearly the military had brought in, but he saw a few much smaller planes across from where they were. Right as he began thinking about maybe sneaking over there and the others came out of the fuel depot to crouch down beside him, two things happened. Someone shouted, and a spray of gunfire stabbed out at them. Eric heard the meaty impact of a bullet finding its mark and at the same instant felt something hot and wet spray the back of his neck and head.

He twisted around as he frantically grabbed for his assault rifle.

Steven was on the asphalt, limbs askew, blood leaking rapidly out of the crater that now was in the side of his skull.

" _Steven!_ " Eric screamed.

A surge of blinding red rage swept over him and he finished snatching the rifle up.

"Hold fire, goddamnit! That's the fuel depot!" someone shouted.

Running footsteps.

"Drop your weapons!"

They were closing in.

Eric aimed and fired.

The gun clicked. For a few seconds, he had no idea what had gone wrong. And then, right as they finished closing the gap between them, he remembered: they'd turned their safeties on. And then a shadow fell across him.

He looked up, into the flinty eyes of a man in combat armor, his face sweaty and stained with dark stubble, and then the man brought the butt of his rifle down on Eric's head.

* * *

"Hey, I think one of them is coming around."

"Maybe we should check to make sure."

"Don't. Staff Sergeant's already pissed at you for capping that tech."

"What difference does it make? They're all gonna die anyway."

Eric heard this conversation drifting through his aching skull as he was deposited unceremoniously back onto the rocky shores of consciousness. He didn't want to open his eyes. He didn't want to be awake. He didn't want to be here, in this world of pain. But he didn't have any choice, and Eric hadn't made a habit of shying away from doing things he had to do.

He opened his eyes and took stock of the situation.

It was pretty bad.

His head felt like it had been cracked open, his hands were bound roughly behind his back, he was in some kind of office, and Vanessa was passed out beside him, equally bound. Two Marines in desert camo stood over him, towered over him really, looking big and bulky in their combat vests and gear. Their eyes were hard and flat.

"And he's awake," one of them said. He sounded cruel.

The other man crouched down in front of Eric. "I'm going to give you some advice, man. When the Staff Sergeant comes in to ask you questions, don't BS around, don't be a smartass, just...tell him what he wants to know. He's in a really bad mood."

"You think I am?" Eric replied.

The man snorted. "Fair point, I guess."

"All of you can go to hell."

The Marine frowned suddenly and his confident mask seemed to slip briefly. "Probably," he said softly.

Before he could say anything further, they heard a loud voice come echoing to them from elsewhere in the building, getting closer. It had to be the Staff Sergeant, and he sure as hell didn't sound like he was in a good mood. The voice drew closer until it paused just outside the closed door. Eric could see a shadowy figure through the frosted glass.

"I don't care, just get it done you sack of dirt!"

The door suddenly flew open and a large, built, grizzled-looking man stomped in. The two Marines snapped to attention, stepping back against the wall. "Finally," the man growled, looking at Eric. He held a rolled up piece of paper in his hand. Marching over, he grabbed a chair and dragged it noisily in front of Eric. He sat down, then unrolled the piece of paper he was holding and placed it on the tiled floor between them, holding it down with his boots.

"I'd really like to keep this simple," he said. He sounded very tired. "Show me on the map where your friends are hiding."

Eric felt a wave of anger surge through him like he'd been lit up by lightning. "As one ex-Marine to a current one: go to hell. You're a disgrace to the corps. And you're going to kill me anyway, why the hell would I help you?"

The man regarded him with a mildly curious gaze. "You're an ex-Marine? What happened?"

"I refused to kill some civilians," Eric replied.

The Staff Sergeant sighed and ran a hand over his tired, sweaty face. "What a goddamned mess this is. I don't like this crap any more than you do."

"I think I like it less. You sit here and follow orders from some up-his-own-ass politician who's caught between covering his own ass and giving a reach around to his corporate investors, murdering American citizens and innocent civilians, and you expect me to go with it? I would rather die than help you," Eric growled.

The man stared at him with tired eyes, and then they hardened up. He heaved a sigh and held out his hand. "Fine, we do it the hard way."

One of the Marines stepped forward and slapped a combat knife into his hand. The Staff Sergeant stood up and stared down at Eric, knife in hand. "Last chance," he said.

"Piss off," Eric replied.

His frown deepened, and he began to crouch.

Eric prepared himself for the brutal end inasmuch as he could, (he was already in a lot of pain as it was), but instead of pain the world decided to deliver a surprise to them all. An explosion rocked the area and a huge fireball threw a glaring orange-yellow light into the room.

"What the-" The Staff Sergeant shot to his feet and rushed over to a window. Something let out a massive drilling sound that almost seemed like a roar. Immediately, Eric heard a lot of screaming and gunfire and explosions.

"What is that thing!?" the Staff Sergeant cried in genuine panic.

He turned and ran out of the room, calling for the other two Marines to follow him. Within seconds, Eric and Vanessa were left alone.

"What the hell is happening?" she asked groggily.

"We were captured, Steven's dead, something massive is attacking the area," Eric replied. He began shifting around and managed to get his hands under his feet and to his front. Carefully, he got to his feet, listening to the all-out firefight that had broken out in the area beyond. His mind working overtime, he looked around. There! On a nearby table, he saw a few of his items: the crowbar, his Desert Eagle still in its holster, and a combat knife. He hurried over and snatched up the combat knife, then moved over to Vanessa.

"Here, get up," he said. "We've gotta go, now."

She grunted with effort, getting to her feet, then presented her hands to him. They had thankfully gotten them done up with plastic cinches instead of traditional handcuffs. He took the precious time to cut through Vanessa's cinches as the building shook violently around them.

"What the hell is out there?!" she asked as she accepted the knife and returned the favor.

"I don't know, nothing we've faced so far," Eric replied.

Even the big tripod thing seemed like it would pale in comparison to whatever was out there. As soon as his hands were free, he gave Vanessa the knife, then snatched up the Desert Eagle and crowbar. As he began fitting them back in place, (he was glad that they hadn't taken his bulletproof vest at least), he joined her at the window.

They looked down onto a scene of unmitigated chaos.

They had been taken to the control tower, he saw at once, at the other end of the airfield. Dead ahead of them, three stories down in a large lot that had been converted into a military headquarters, a terrifying behemoth was wreaking havoc on the local population of Marines. Whatever the hell it was, the thing had to be two stories tall. It was an immense, midnight blue, bulky creature that seemed mostly metallic. It had a big, oddly-shaped skull and two arms as huge as trees. As he stared, the titan aimed both arms at a cluster of nearly a dozen Marines peppering it with machine gun fire, and the ends of the arms opened up, and hot jets of flame shot out. It incinerated the entire squad in an instant. The creature began turning its flame jets onto any other nearby hostiles.

"Holy mother of God, we have to get out of here right now," Eric whispered.

"Yes we do," Vanessa replied softly.

The pair turned away from the window, listening to the screaming and gunfire and the loud, droning sound that he knew now the creature was making, and ran out of the room. Eric had his pistol drawn, ready to take down any bastards that wanted to stop him. They moved down a short hallway and peered into any doors they found. A few more offices and finally a stairwell. For whatever reason, the Marines had dragged them up to the third floor. Eric and Vanessa raced down the stairs until they came to the ground floor, then hesitated as they opened the door and peered out. Several Marines ran by and Eric closed and locked the door quickly.

"Crap," he whispered. "It's too crazy out there."

"We should go down," Vanessa replied, nodding to the nearby descending stairs.

Eric sighed and nodded. He was tired of underground. But what choice did they have? They hurried down the final flight of stairs, coming to the basement, and opened the door. And froze. Eric found himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun, and on the other end of it was a Marine. _Well,_ he thought, _I guess this is how I die._

Then the Marine lowered the shotgun. "What's going on up there?" he asked, his voice tight and terse.

"What do you care? You gonna blow us away?" Eric replied.

"No. We aren't here to slaughter innocent civilians," the man replied. "What's happening topside?"

Eric thought about how to respond for just a few seconds. There really wasn't time, so he went with his gut: he believed this guy. In this initial burst of a first impression, for whatever reason, his gut said he was telling the truth.

"There's a two story monster wrecking everyone up there," he said.

"Jesus, are you kidding me?!"

"We need to hit the alternate route, Sergeant," another Marine said. Eric glanced over the man's shoulder and saw three more Marines: two men and a woman. She was the one who had spoken. She looked a little anxious, but otherwise calm. One of the men looked young and terrified, very likely a Private and green as grass, the other looked a bit more seasoned and pissed.

"Damn...all right. Come on," the Sergeant said, then about faced and marched off.

Eric and Vanessa watched them go.

"Well?" she asked. "Do we trust them?"

"I don't think we have a choice right now," Eric replied.

She sighed. "That seems to be happening a lot today."

They set off after the squad and followed them down a brickwork corridor. The whole area shook and rattled periodically, dust floating down from the ceiling, the lights flickering each time something exploded or that big beast upstairs took another step. They passed through a few dimly lit rooms stuffed with crates and barrels and shelves, and came at last to an old, decrepit elevator.

"This is your alternate route?" Eric asked.

"Yes," the Sergeant replied.

One of them hit the button and, after an uneasy pause, the doors squealed open. Eric didn't like the looks of the elevator. It seemed like it hadn't seen maintenance in a decade. Again, what choice did they have? The half-dozen survivors piled on and the woman punched the down button. The lift began a slow descent into the bowels of the installation once more. Eric stood to one side, gritting his teeth, just waiting.

Waiting for the ride to be over, waiting for the Marines to turn on them, waiting for the situation to somehow get even worse.

He didn't have to wait for more than about thirty seconds.

A huge explosion suddenly rocked the area, much bigger than anything else he'd encountered. The lights flickered and died. The elevator jerked to a stop and immediately the groaning, ominous sound of straining metal could be heard. Several heavy chunks of masonry hit the top of the elevator as the shaft began to become unstable.

Someone started to say something, and then, with a loud metallic snap, the lift abruptly gave up the ghost. Eric screamed as the metal cube of death began to plunge. He gripped onto a nearby railing, praying frantically that this wouldn't kill him.

Then the elevator touched down and he went with it.

His head slammed into something and for the third time today, he was knocked firmly into the dark depths of unconsciousness.


	13. CHλPTER 13: Lethargy

"I think he might be coming around..."

Eric was extremely tempted to keep his eyes closed. He was coming awake slowly, yet again arriving on the rocky shores of painful reality. His body was already being assaulted by a plethora of agonies. A dozen cuts and scrapes across his skin, a skull that felt like nails were being hammered into it, his right arm felt like it was presently on fire, his muscles were sore, his joints ached. On top of all this, he was exhausted.

He was bone-deep tired.

But Eric opened his eyes.

"Oh thank God," Vanessa, who was crouched over him, said. "You've been hit on the head so many times recently, I'm beginning to worry that you might have a concussion or even a skull fracture. You get a brain bleed and you're going to die."

"Thanks for the good news," he muttered.

"What I wouldn't give for an MRI right now."

"I think that's out of the question," said another voice.

He blinked and then shifted, glancing over. He saw rough, rocky walls. Where were they? His gaze came to rest on another face: the female Marine. As they locked eyes, he suddenly realized that he actually recognized her. Where had he seen her before? Well, given that she was a Marine, it was extremely likely they'd served together…

"Yeah, I recognize you too," she said, walking over and crouching beside him. "Bishop, right?"

"Yes. You're...PFC Lopez?"

"Lance Corporal Lopez now. And Maria to my friends. I remember being friends. We served together in Iraq. Did a tour."

"I remember now," he murmured, then hissed as Vanessa began to bandage up his arm.

"Sorry. You tore your stitching and I needed to reapply. I tried to finish before you woke up, just need to rewrap it now," she said.

"Thanks," he murmured. "Uh...where are we?"

"Some kind of cave system," Maria replied. "I think they were going to expand the area at one point but forgot or gave up. There's just some crates and work material around."

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"About half an hour," Vanessa replied.

"The others have been scouting the area, trying to find exactly where we are on the map we have," Maria said.

"You have a map?"

"Yes."

He hesitated, remembering all at once that he was talking to a Marine, and now in close proximity to a squad of Marines, who had, up to this point, been trying to kill him. Maria seemed to read the change in his expression.

"Don't worry, you're safe with us. We aren't going to kill you or anyone else who doesn't fire on us first."

"Why?" he asked, and hated that he had to ask it.

She sighed. "When we were flying in, some of the transports got shot down, including the one I was on. I got pulled from the wreckage by some security guards and they took me and several others to a medical ward they had set up shop in. None of us had any idea of our orders. That was where I met the others here now. We wanted to reestablish contact with command, but there was just too much going on. We spent awhile just trying to help hold that ward. Ultimately it got overrun. Those zappers teleported in, and some of the big bulky ones busted a few doors down. We made it out with some other survivors and tossed together a plan: make for a radio facility, call for help. But on the way there, we ran into another squad of Marines and they blew away the other survivors we had with us, and we...fired back on them. We killed them. Managed to pull a working radio off one of them, found out our _real_ orders by listening to the chatter..."

She sighed and shook her head. "After that, we argued a lot and finally decided we should just cut and run. That's why we were headed to the airfield."

"We were doing the same thing," he murmured.

"Doctor Thompson brought me up to speed. Which leaves us at now."

"So what then?" Eric asked.

Maria sighed. "I don't know, honestly. Sergeant Bower's figuring something out, I hope."

"Okay, I'm done," Vanessa said.

"Thank you," he said, wincing as he tried to move his arm.

"You're welcome, although I need to check your pupils. Sit up."

He sat up and the room tilted as a bolt of pain shot through his head. As he finished, Vanessa flashed a penlight across his eyes and he grimaced. "Pupils are round and reactive. You should probably be okay," she murmured, then pocketed the light and put her finger to his chin. "Follow my finger without moving your head."

She moved her other finger around slowly in front of his eyes and he followed it. She nodded. "Yeah, you're probably okay. Either way, it's as good as we're going to get."

He nodded and then got slowly to his feet. Vanessa gave him some painkillers and Maria offered him a canteen. He thanked them and swallowed the pills, and tried not to take too much from the canteen. He was thirsty.

As he finished that up, he heard footsteps. Eric looked around the cavern he was in. It was basically as Maria had described it. Rock walls and ceiling and ground. He could see some girders attached to the walls and dead work-lights attached to the ceiling overhead. There was the elevator doors that were blown open from the impact of the crash. He saw a scattering of crates and tables. The only light came from their own flashlights and a pair of industrial lights that still had power in them. There were just a few ways out of the cavern.

"We found a way out," the man leading the trio of Marines over to their position said. "You're up, good. Are you able to walk? And swim?"

"Yeah," Eric replied.

"Swim?" Maria asked.

"We found the only way out, and it's a flooded tunnel. We should start heading there now."

"Great," Vanessa muttered.

They all started walking. "I guess introductions are in order. I'm Sergeant Bower, squad leader," Bower said.

Eric sized each of them up as they were introduced.

Bower looked pretty solid, if a bit exhausted. He was tall and well built and tanned, his dark brown hair buzzed. Maria had sharp green eyes and short black hair pulled into a tight ponytail, and she had tan skin as well, though hers was natural, not granted by the sun. The second in command, a man named Corporal Gallo, was also tanned bronze, had angry blue eyes and very short blonde hair. He looked pissed and was chewing on a half-dead, unlit cigarette. He seemed like he was on the verge of shouting at someone. The final member of the squad was quiet and clearly terrified, a skinny young kid named Private Miller.

Eric and Vanessa introduced themselves and they traded whatever intelligence they could think of as they walked through the caves, though it seemed that the Marines hadn't run into any other alien monsters that Eric hadn't already encountered. On the one hand, he liked that he didn't have to hear about any new terrors, (that big mech bastard was still fresh in his mind), on the other hand, he was still afraid of what might yet be waiting for them. Every time he thought he had an appropriate grasp of the situation, something brand new showed up that shattered his conception of reality. How did that huge titan thing fit in!?

How were they supposed to kill one if they came up against it?

Maybe there was only one of them. He hoped so, but doubted it.

At last, they came to the only other way out of the caves. "So how far does it go?" Eric asked as they gathered at a pool at the end of a tunnel.

Bower sighed. "We're not sure. The map we managed to get of this area is pretty rough. There's supposed to be a water reclamation facility on the other side. Best guess: thirty feet. And I think it might actually be our only option. Couldn't tell for sure, but it looked like the elevator shaft we rode down is caved-in. I think they dropped bombs on that big whatever it was up there."

"Fantastic," Vanessa muttered.

The half-dozen survivors gathered at the water's edge. Eric stared into the murky depths. Was he up for this? His head was still aching, his whole body really, and he was pushing into true red-line exhaustion territory.

He was going to have to take a break soon.

But he really couldn't do it here. So he had to move on.

"Who goes first?" Miller asked.

"I'll go," Bower replied, and began securing his gear. They were going to have to deal with their weapons afterward. Although he had far fewer weapons now. Going to have to fix that. They all began securing their varied weapons and inventory as best they could. Bower moved into the water, dropping down and finding that the bottom was about three feet. Though as he waded deeper into the water, it quickly rose. He got up to the edge of the room, took a few deep breaths, then disappeared under the water. Within seconds, Maria followed after him, then Eric, then Vanessa, and finally Gallo and Miller went into the water.

Eric hit the edge, took a few breaths, sucked in a big one, held it, and then dove down. At least, he saw as he began swimming hard into the tunnel he found, the water was pretty clear, and light was coming from somewhere down here. Why was that? Well, there _was_ a water reclamation facility somewhere nearby, so maybe that had something to do with it. He swam, pushing himself, the seconds ticking by in ominous silence.

He thought he could see something moving in the water around him, something small, like little fish. But they were shaped wrong to be fish...closer to worms. What did that mean? And then all thoughts were firmly ejected from his head as something let out a deep, low growl that echoed through the water. Terror, absolute frozen black terror, stabbed into him and he looked around as he tried to press his body even harder and faster.

What had made that sound?!

He prayed it was some kind of machine, but it had simply sounded too organic, too much like a monster. Ahead, he could see Bower and Maria still going. Bower was almost gone from sight. The tunnel walls were widening, letting out into another area. Oh thank God! But he heard the sound again, the low, droning call of some aquatic nightmare. And he looked back. He couldn't help it. Behind him, he saw a string of people: Vanessa, Gallo, Miller at the back. And...something else. A dark bulky thing was moving with a sinister grace towards Miller.

It looked like…

A shark? No, something much worse, and _huge_.

Miller looked back. Eric felt frozen, his lungs burning, shrieking for oxygen. Gallo looked behind him, then began to swim faster. So did Vanessa. Eric thought he could hear Miller screaming. And then the huge, dark shark thing was at the poor kid and clamped down on him. Immediately a cloud of blood shot out.

Miller was grabbing for something and then Eric saw him perform a motion that had become pretty ingrained in his skull: he pulled the pin on a grenade. Now Eric panicked again, turning and swimming as hard and as fast as he could. As he did, and the others caught up with him, he felt a sharp, needling pain burst into being on his leg. Then another on his arm. No time for that now, he had to get out of there.

Clawing for the surface, he broke it right as a tremendous thump sounded and the area shook. Gasping for breath as he looked around, trying to get his bearings, he caught sight of another cave, this one better lit. There was a shoreline ahead of him. The needle-like sensations were still there. He looked down, towards the source of his pain, and cried out in shock: something was attached to his arm! He grabbed it and ripped it off. It came away in a spray of blood. Was it a leech?! It didn't look like one.

He realized that he was looking at the things he'd been seeing in the water. Frustrated, he threw it away, then reached down and ripped the other one off.

"What happened?!" Bower demanded.

"Out of the water! Alien leeches!" Eric replied, swimming to the shore.

"What the hell happened?!" Bower repeated.

"Big shark ate Miller. He blew it away with a grenade," Eric replied, between breaths.

Bower cursed and joined him in getting to shore.

Soon, all five of them were at the shoreline and out of the water. They spent awhile getting the weird leech creatures off of them, bandaging the wounds, then getting the water out of their guns to the best of their ability.

"I could use a weapon," Vanessa said as they did this.

Bower glanced at her, seemed to size her up. "Can you handle one?"

She crossed her arms. "Would I be alive if I couldn't?"

"Fair point. Here." He handed her his Desert Eagle, holster, and two magazines of ammo for it, and Vanessa thanked him.

Eric considered asking for a bigger arsenal himself, but he had a Desert Eagle, so instead he settled for asking for more ammo. Maria handed him a pair of magazines and he thanked her. Especially when he saw that she herself only had an Eagle. Bower had an assault rifle and Gallo a shotgun. He felt a sting of regret at not doing a more thorough job trying to gather the arsenal he'd assembled while they were fleeing that control tower.

All the effort gathering those guns, that ammo!

It was more than a little frustrating.

Finally, they were about as ready as they were going to be, and they moved across the cavern towards the only artificial structure in the area: a steel-fronted wall built into the rocks. There was just a single door awaiting them. Bower approached it first.

"Everyone ready?" he asked. "We need to clear this area."

They all responded that they were. Eric stood just behind Bower, his Desert Eagle out. Bower opened the door and slipped in rifle-first. Two shots were fired, then he called, "Clear!" Eric moved in after him and found himself in a broad corridor. There were two dead headcrabs on the metal floor and nothing else. Slowly, the others filtered in as Bower and Eric continued along. They moved through the door at the end and came into what looked strangely like a medical facility. As they began spreading out and securing the area, Eric realized that's exactly what it was.

A small emergency medical area built at the base of the water treatment plant.

They spent the next few minutes clearing a shower area, locker room, emergency room, a quartet of patient rooms, a pair of bathrooms, a storage room, and a break area. All they found waiting for them were some more headcrabs and a pair of zombies.

As they gathered back in the central hub that connected to all these rooms, Bower spoke up. "All right everyone, I'm going to suggest that we call it a night and hole up here until morning. We're all hurt, we're all tired, we're all hungry and thirsty, I imagine. First, we'll lock this place down, then we'll eat and tend to our wounds. I recommend everyone here see if they can grab a shower and a change of clothes. We'll sleep in shifts, someone has to be awake at all times. Gallo's got first watch, then Bishop and myself, then Thompson and Lopez. Three hours each. Then we move out. Questions anyone?" he asked, looking around.

No one had any. "Then get to work. Bishop, you know how to set trip-mines?"

"Yes, Sergeant," Eric replied almost automatically.

"Mine the hall we came in through after making sure that exterior door is locked."

"I'll go with him and make sure he does a good job," Maria said.

"Fine. Everyone else, lock it down."

Maria, who apparently was the one who had the mines, joined Eric, and they began walking back towards the way they'd come in through.

"So what've you been up to?" she asked.

"Working here, mostly. I've been here for two years," he replied.

"Really? Two years? Man, I'd go nuts. Why'd you do it?"

They came into the hallway and moved down it, then locked down the door after taking another look outside to make sure nothing else had shown up. "Money and opportunity, I guess. Friend got me in. You remember Sergeant Martin?"

"Yeah! He's here too?"

"He was...didn't make it."

"Damn. What happened?"

"Best I can tell last stand type situation against the zombies and the zappers. One of them got him good it looks like in the head with one of those bolts of energy." He sighed. "What about you? I thought you were thinking of getting out."

"I was, but when the time came, I didn't see any good reason not to keep going. Not much else to say, I guess. Spent some more time in Iraq, went to Afghanistan for a tour, got rotated back here for a bit." She shrugged.

They finished with the mines.

"What really kept you here? Way I remember, you were kind of wild and crazy," she said.

"Money, and family. I saw an opportunity to make some real money, and my mom and sister really could use the help," he replied. She looked at him as they walked back into the main area. "What?" he asked.

"I just...that's really, um...I can respect that," she said. "My family never did crap for me, so I never felt obligated to do the same. But I can respect that." She frowned, suddenly swept the room with her gaze, then looked back at him. She seemed like she was trying to decide something, and then all at once, she appeared to make that decision. "Help me find some changes of clothes. Maybe we'll get lucky and find a washing machine or something."

He nodded and followed after her, thinking he remembered seeing one during the initial sweep. As it turned out, he was right. The shower area, which wasn't just a big, open place but actually had individual rooms meant for a bit more privacy, did indeed have a pair of washers and dryers. They took the opportunity to poke through the lockers and came up with some jeans, t-shirts, socks, and underwear.

"Shower with me?" she asked after they'd gathered that clothing.

He looked at her, surprised. "I, um...yeah, sure," he replied, because why would he not? He'd always been extremely attracted to her, and that hadn't changed. Though a thought did occur to him. "Hold on," he said, and hurried over to the emergency room. There, he located a big medical kit and snagged it, then hurried back over to her. "Might as well, if we're going to be naked."

"Good idea. We can play doctor with each other," she said with a smirk.

He followed her into the shower area. They stripped down, first taking off their armor and boots and weapons and supplies, setting them all out on one of the tables in the area beside the washers and dryers, then stripped down naked. Eric felt a little awkward, given that anyone could walk in, but to be honest, seeing Maria strip down bare was more than worth it. She was still in phenomenal shape, all that smooth, tanned skin...yeah, definitely worth it. They threw their uniforms into one of the washers and got it going, then grabbed the kit and retreated to the farthest shower room from the entrance they could find.

Eric closed the door behind them as Maria turned on the shower.

"Oh my God, this is _amazing,_ " she said as she stood beneath the steaming waterfall that appeared. "After all the crap that's happened today, this is just fantastic."

He joined her and immediately agreed. It felt like heaven. Like paradise. He couldn't remember the last time the simple act of taking a shower, of letting water fall onto his body, had felt so deeply relaxing and satisfying.

After a few moments, Maria turned to face him. She stared at him intently. "So, here's the thing: I always meant to hop in bed with you when we were serving together, but the opportunity never really presented itself. I still think you're really hot, and I still want to screw you. I'm on birth control, and this seems like a great opportunity. So unless you have an STD..."

"No," he said, "they offer screenings and I took the opportunity after I hooked up with anyone here. I'm clean."

"So am I, and I guess we have about equal reason to trust each other. So...you wanna?"

"Of course," he replied.

"Good."

She kissed him.

* * *

"Ow! Careful," Eric said.

"Quit being such a whiner," Maria replied.

"Well, it hurts."

"What doesn't these days?" she muttered.

He figured she had a point and shut up. She kept patching up his wounds. In all honesty, he felt really, really good. It had actually been months since he'd had sex. No...longer than that. It had been, oh man, ten months. Gina had been the last woman he'd slept with.

"God," he whispered.

"What? Something wrong?" Maria asked.

"No. Just realizing that it's been ten months since I last got laid."

"It hasn't even been ten minutes," she said.

He sighed. "You know what I mean."

She laughed. "Yeah, I know. Ten months? Really? Well, I guess this place wouldn't exactly be the best place to sleep around...okay, that's the last one except for this wound of yours here. It's been bleeding, I need to take the bandage off and look at it." She indicated his bicep.

"Yeah, all right, go for it," he replied.

She started undoing the gauze Vanessa had wrapped around him. "What the hell happened? What caused this?" she asked.

"Zombie got me good," he replied.

"Damn." She finished getting it off, then studied it. They were sitting together on a bench out in the main shower area, though it was tucked into its own little niche. Someone else was showering now, they could hear it, but he had no idea who or if they'd come in while he and Maria had been going at it. She'd been kind of...noisy.

"Man, this is gonna be one badass scar," she said as she studied it. "Here, need to clean it up. This is gonna hurt."

"Uh-huh," he replied, bracing himself. She began cleaning the blood away carefully and the pain came and he fought his way through it. "What are we gonna do if we get out of here?" he asked.

"We have to get out of here first," Maria replied. "We'll figure that out later...if Gallo doesn't completely lose it and shoot us in the back."

He looked over at her sharply. "What?"

She sighed. "Going rogue wasn't really popular with him. He's a real golden boy, you know. A good old boy, gung-ho and jacked up about himself and the Corps. He hasn't really taken it too well. He and Bower argue a lot but it mostly died down after Bower had to pop him one maybe an hour before we met up. Bower told him to go his own way if he wanted, but he decided to stick around. I think he's just waiting for the right opportunity."

"Opportunity for what?"

"To get back on their good side. Not that I'm particularly thrilled about having to gun down anyone, let alone civilians or my fellow Marines. But this...is wrong. Okay, you're good. Your stitches are holding, your wound just bled a bit, it's fine. Let me wrap it with some new gauze," she said, and set to work.

Once she was finished with that and he'd popped some painkillers, he worked on her, cleaning and bandaging all the wounds she'd gathered during her tenure at Black Mesa. Although it was getting hard to focus, he was exhausted, more so than ever now that he'd had sex and a hot shower. But he needed to eat first. Once she was patched up, they dressed in the clothes they'd grabbed for themselves and moved back out into the laundry area, where their load had just finished washing. Eric switched it over to a dryer and then they tracked down the break room. He was glad to see that nothing had gone awry while they'd been showering.

The pair moved into the break room and scavenged for food. They managed to come up with some sandwiches, some Mountain Dew, a few bags of chips, and some apples. Not exactly a feast, but it might as well have been given how hungry Eric felt just then. They talked little as they tore into the food. When it was gone, Eric immediately had to resist the urge to track down more, because he'd seen more, but the others had to eat, too. It was going to have to be enough. As he stood up, he swayed, grabbing the back of the chair he'd been sitting in.

"You okay?" Maria asked.

"Yeah, just dead tired," he muttered.

"Too tired for another round?" she asked.

He considered it. "No," he replied.

* * *

"Bishop, get up."

Eric's eyes snapped open and he sat up in the bed, looking around, confused and knowing only that he might be in danger. There were lights on to his right and he looked over there. A shadowy figure stood framed in the doorway.

"What?" he whispered.

"Bishop, it's our watch." Oh. Bower. It was just Bower.

He thought he'd been having nightmares, but he thankfully couldn't remember what they had been about.

"What's happening?" Maria whispered.

"It's just my shift," he replied. "Go back to sleep."

"Oh...okay."

He kissed her on the forehead and then got up, grabbed his gear and headed out into the hallway. Blinking owlishly, he looked around. The area looked no different than when he'd left it. "I need to take a piss, wash my face," he said.

"Do it quick," Bower replied.

"Yes, Sergeant."

Eric jogged down the hallway to the shower area and took the time to check on his and Maria's clothing. It was dry, and in about as good condition as could be expected. He dressed quickly, then took a leak, washed up, and gathered Maria's clothes and brought them back to her, setting them on the table beside her, then joined Bower.

For the first half an hour, neither of them spoke. They simply moved around the area, checking on the entrances, the trip mines, the vents, the others. They were all passed out, dead asleep, which was good, they were going to need it. Finally, they took a seat in the main hub room on the floor, with their backs to a wall in an area that gave them as good a view as they could. Each man had a bottle of water and drank from them occasionally.

"So, what happened?" Bower asked.

"To what?" Eric replied, although he knew what the man was talking about.

"Why'd you get booted?" he asked. Eric hesitated. "I know you're a Marine. You were. Lopez told me, but I could tell even without her saying so. Something about you...I dunno, I just get the feeling you didn't leave the Corps peacefully. And you don't seem like a bad guy. Not like some of the others I've worked with. Especially recently...so what happened?"

Eric sighed. "I was in Iraq. We were out on patrol. My Sergeant thought some civilians were packing heat. I didn't think so. He...had a history of looking for trouble. He was bloodthirsty, but decent at hiding it. Not from me and some of the others though. So he starts getting rough with them, escalating the situation, and one of them...he got fed up with it, shoved my Sergeant. That's what he was looking for, he was going to order us to kill them, I could just see it. I started arguing with him, he got in my face, I...socked him one. Knocked him out cold, patted down the civilians just to be sure. They didn't have jack on them. There was a whole investigation, my Sergeant raised hell, I wound up with a dishonorable discharge."

"You saved some lives though," Bower murmured.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Was it worth it?"

Eric considered it. "Some days yeah, some days no. Mostly, I think yeah."

"I guess I would too, given what I chose to do here today." He heaved a long, weary sigh. "Goddamnit, I hate being in this situation."

"Same," Eric replied.

A long moment of silence passed between them.

"Do you think we're going to make it?" Eric asked finally.

Bower was silent for a few seconds longer. "I don't know," he admitted. "The odds seem stacked against us. And the stack just seems to grow higher with every hour that passes. God alone knows what the hell's going on out there now while we're here, taking a break..."

"Yeah. Hey, what's Gallo's problem?"

Bower sighed heavily. "He's a hotshot, you know? Thinks he's God's gift to...the world, really. Fact is, he's a great shot, got a lot of endurance, and up until we went rogue, was great at following orders. Then we had to do what we had to do and he...it really cuts against the way he lives his life. I mean, it did that for all of us. I'm sick over having to do this, but he's just pissed he might have to give up his paycheck. I don't know. I'm keeping an eye on him."

Eric just nodded. Something about the guy, besides the obvious, didn't sit well with him.

After another moment, Bower finally stood up. "We should probably be more productive than just standing guard. Help me find a map of the area, so we can plan our next move."

"Yes, Sergeant," Eric replied.

They set off.


	14. CHλPTER 14: A Very Big Problem

"You look a lot better."

Eric looked up as he finished lacing up his boots. Maria stood in the doorway of what had temporarily been their room.

"I feel a lot better," he replied. Finishing up, he stood and did a quick check of the area, making sure he hadn't left anything behind. Not that he had basically anything to leave behind. All at once, he realized that he'd left his wallet back in his dorm. Well, it was gone. There was no way he was going back for it. Did it matter? He was probably a fugitive now. Having the money would be nice, but...well shit, what _was_ he going to do if and when he escaped this place?

"Come on, we're heading out," Maria said.

He nodded and headed towards her. Together, the pair began making their way towards the main hub room of the medical area that had become their temporary shelter. He could hear the others talking, their voices oddly comforting.

Despite everything, he _did_ feel a lot better.

After finding a map, making a plan, and finishing out his watch with Bower, he'd woken Maria and gone back to sleep. Nightmares had found him, but they had been mercifully vague, evaporating upon waking. From there, he'd grabbed another quick meal in the form of an apple and a bottle of water, then had taken another shower and dressed. Coming into the main room, Eric did one more check of his gear. He didn't have much. That was still depressing. He'd gathered all that stuff and now all he had left to show for his troubles was a bulletproof vest, a Desert Eagle and three magazines of ammo, and that weird crowbar.

Well, at least his clothes were freshly laundered, his wounds wrapped, and he'd taken three extra strength painkillers during the meal, so his pain was beginning to diminish. Plus, being fed and having some sleep, (and the two sessions of fun with Maria), had gone a very long way towards healing him physically and spiritually.

The others were gathered in the main hall.

"Took you longer enough," Bower said.

"Sorry, Sergeant," Maria replied.

"We have a new problem. I assume you've heard-" He paused as a series of shudders ran through the area. "-that?"

Eric nodded. It had been happening every few minutes since he'd woken at least, probably longer. He knew it hadn't been happening during his watch.

"Any ideas?" Vanessa asked.

"None that I can comfortably contemplate," Bower replied. "Bishop, I want you to ride up with me first. We scope the situation, then, if it looks safe, I'll come back down and get everyone else. Any questions, people?"

There were no questions, although Eric had been hoping someone at least had one. He would have liked a few more moments to prepare himself mentally for the task ahead, because he doubted anything good was up there. He had a suspicion, but it was so terrifying that he didn't want to entertain the thought even a little. And so when Bower jerked his head slightly towards the elevator that would take them up, Eric just made himself walk over, joining the Sergeant as they began the next leg of their miserable journey of survival through Black Mesa.

Man, this was probably going to suck.

What new horrors awaited them on this day?

According to a clock mounted on the wall, which was still running fine by the looks of it, the time was just past seven in the morning. Which meant that about a full day had passed since he'd last woken up, (naturally at least), and since the world had last been sane. If he had to guess, he'd say that the quake or explosion or whatever it was had hit maybe around nine yesterday morning. God, a day? Had it actually almost been a full day? He'd spent six of those hours sleeping and another three standing guard here, but a day? It seemed somehow impossible.

It seemed, in some quantum state of flux or impossibility, that both hardly much time at all had passed since he'd woken up, and ten times as much time had passed since then. It was an incredibly bizarre feeling. Trying to dispel the sense of dislocation settling over him, Eric stepped aboard the elevator with Bower and they rode it up in silence. He drew his sidearm and waited in terse silence broken only by the hum of the lift and their breathing. Finally, the elevator came to a halt and the doors dinged open.

Both men had drawn to the sides, weapons at ready, but they found an empty, almost totally barren lobby awaiting them. Just a room with a pair of uncomfortable looking chairs and a cigarette urn that needed to be cleaned out. As they crossed the room, heading for the only doors, which stood closed, the tremors started up again. They were far louder and more powerful and shook dust from the ceilings. The pair approached the door, hesitated briefly, and then Bower opened it up. Eric glimpsed a huge room beyond, and…

Both men immediately closed the door and pulled back.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," Bower whispered harshly.

"It can't be the one from the airfield...can it?" Eric asked, his mind racing.

Another one of those vast, behemoth monstrosities was stomping around in the room beyond. The huge, midnight blue metal thing with the flamethrower arms and the bizarrely shaped head that stood a good twenty feet tall was waiting for them.

"We need a plan," Bower muttered.

"Hold on," Eric whispered, and carefully cracked the door again. He took in the huge room beyond at a glance, surveying it as quickly and carefully as he could manage, judging it against the very rough map they'd found. There were several doors and a large tunnel. One door in particular he focused on was to the left, maybe fifty feet away. The tunnel lay to the right, across the room. A quick plan formed in his head as he pulled back.

"Bower, from what I can see, the way we need to go to get out of here is that door to the left. Am I correct?" he asked.

Bower took a quick look out and pulled back, then nodded. "Yes, that's the way we need to go, according to the map."

"Okay, I have plan. You bring the others up here, then I slip out and head for that tunnel to the right. I get the big thing's attention and lure it down there. While it's distracted, you and the others get out of here. I try to work my way back and join you."

Bower stared at him for a few seconds. "You want to do this?" he asked.

"I don't _want_ to, I have to. We aren't killing that thing," he replied flatly. "And I'm the most expendable. You need Vanessa, she's a medic. You need Maria, she's an engineer. They need you, you're the squad leader. And I wouldn't trust this to Gallo. Would you?"

Bower sighed. "Even yesterday I'd have said yes, but now? No, I don't think so." He frowned, looking down at the dusty floor for a few seconds, faced scrunched in fierce concentration as he no doubt considered all the angles. Finally, he looked back up. "You're sure about this?"

"Yes. Unless you have a better idea."

"Right now, I really don't," he replied.

"Okay then. Get the others."

Bower nodded and moved back to the lift, then disappeared into it as it began to descend. Eric waited, his pulse starting to pound, his stomach churning violently. He might die now. It wasn't something he really wanted to do, but it was certainly something he'd risked often enough. He wouldn't say he was used to the notion or the act of doing it, he doubted he ever would be, but he was at least familiar with risking his life doing insanely dangerous things. It kind of went with the territory. This was quite a bit riskier than usual, though.

After a few minutes, the elevator returned, and the others emerged.

"This is insane, Eric," Vanessa said as soon as she was off the lift.

"Believe me, I know, but it's risk one of us or all of us," he replied. "And hey, we got through that fuel depot intact."

"And then Steven died immediately afterward," Vanessa said.

"Yeah...but it doesn't change the fact that one of us needs to do this, and I make the most sense. And the longer I stand here debating it, the easier it'll be to lose my nerve, and maybe the more risky it gets. Right now the thing doesn't seem too worked up, so this will probably work. But if something else happens and it gets more pissed off and goes looking for trouble, I might not be able to distract it," he replied.

"You have no idea what it is or how it operates," Vanessa pointed out.

"I know. Again, this is our best option. So just be ready to go," Eric replied, and then slipped out of the door before anyone else could argue further.

And then he was out in the huge room with the metal titan. It was still facing away from him, apparently interested in that side of the room. Maybe there was someone over there, or someone had been over there. How did it track? Did it see? Hear? Did it have technology built into it? It sure looked enough like a mech to probably be a built thing. Thoughts raced through Eric's head as he worked his way along the wall on his side of the room, heading for the tunnel. He had a very basic plan: sneak to the tunnel, get as far into it as he could, scout it to plan at least an extremely basic route, and then shoot the big bastard and run like hell.

And _hope_ that he could get back out.

What a great plan.

It seemed to take ages, but Eric finally made it to the tunnel. Still the behemoth hadn't noticed him yet. He glanced back. Bower hovered in the doorway, watching him anxiously, sweating. Well, now or never. Eric drew his sidearm and then moved as deep as he possibly could into the tunnel while still having view of the huge alien mech. He then scoped out the way ahead. The tunnel was a good two hundred feet in length, ending in a huge steel door that was closed firmly. There were several other doors along the walls, some of which were open.

Perfect.

Okay, maybe perfect was too strong a word.

Doable. Or 'technically possible' was closer.

Eric took aim at the immense monster and drew a few breaths, then he opened fire, popping off three shots. "Come and get it!" he screamed as he squeezed the trigger. The shots were good, but they just bounced harmlessly off its bulletproof skin.

It did the job though.

The thing let out a tremendous drilling roar as he spun around. The second it did, Eric was off and running, terror pumping him full of adrenaline and making him shaky. The entire building shook and shuddered as the mammoth thing began stomping towards him full force. His focus honed down to a narrow point, almost giving him tunnel vision. Right now, all he could see was the tunnel ahead of him as he booked it as fast as possible. His boots pounded the concrete floor, his heart thundered in his chest, his blood roared in his ears.

It felt like the apocalypse was bearing down on him.

Finally, all at once, the door he was looking to reach appeared and he practically dove into it. It led to a small storage room with another door at the back. Eric kept running, tripped, stumbled, slammed into the door with his face and felt an explosion of pain rupture across his skull. Screaming in agony but ignoring it as best he could, he forced his body onward, grabbing the handle and yanking the door open.

This one led to a dank corridor stretching back the way he'd come. There were a few other doors along the right side but he ignored them as he sprinted back. The entire place was shaking harder than ever now and as he reached the only other door on the left, the side he'd entered through, he heard the monster roar. Crashing through it, Eric felt something hot and wet trickling down his face. He'd be lucky if he hadn't broken his nose. Actually, he realized as he came out into another small storage room and began crossing it, completing the circuit and approaching the huge tunnel again, he'd be lucky if he didn't die in a cave-in.

Because that's what was happening now.

Everything was being knocked over and cracks were appearing in the walls around him. It sounded like the monster was beating the walls with its huge, malformed fists. Despite his terror, Eric slowed down and cautiously approached the doorway leading back out to the tunnel. He opened it and peered slowly out.

Sure enough, that's what the thing was doing, apparently enraged and trying to force him out, it was slamming into the wall again and again. Eric slipped out and began making his way as fast as he could back the direction he'd come, towards the elevator. He'd made it maybe a dozen steps before the pounding stopped and he heard a fresh drilling roar of marrow-freezing terror. He glanced back as he felt a wave of heat roll over him, running full sprint now, and saw that the creature was facing him and had opened up with its flamethrower-hands.

It took a step towards him.

And that was as far as it got before the ceiling caved in on it, tons of concrete and steel smashing down from above and burying it in scant seconds. Eric didn't stop running until he had reached the main room again, but the cave-in stopped chasing him about a quarter of the way down the tunnel. He came to a halt, gasping painfully for breath, and as he looked around, hands on his knees, (he realized that he'd held onto his Eagle for the entire duration of the sprint), he noticed that someone else was in the room. Maria. She was jogging over.

"You're bleeding," she said.

"You're still here," he replied between breaths. He was shaking badly. Slowly straightening up, he replaced his pistol, ascertaining that they were alone in the big room.

"I thought you might need help," she said.

"Not that I don't appreciate it, but the whole point was to risk only one of us...did the others make it out okay?"

"Yes," she said as she came to stand near him, "they're fine. You want help?"

"Yes," he replied, "my legs are going to give out."

She put his arm over her shoulder and supported him as the pair began making their way back to the elevator. "That was insane."

"Yes it was," he agreed. "I never want to do that again."

"I hope you don't have to."

They reached the elevator and as soon as he was inside of it, Eric took a heavy seat on the floor and closed his eyes, just trying to get his breath back and push the adrenaline down to acceptable levels again. He felt like he was going to puke or pass out. By the time the doors opened back up, he felt at least a little calmer.

"Oh thank God, you made it," he heard Vanessa say as footsteps drew closer.

"Still here," he replied weakly.

"What happened to your face?" she asked.

"I was mowing the lawn when the phone rang," he replied.

She paused, then crouched in front of him. "What?" she said, sounding genuinely confused.

"Sorry, it's from House. One of those things that sticks in your head, I guess. Or mine, anyway. I tripped running and ran into a door," he replied.

"Is it dead? What actually happened? That sounded catastrophic," Bower asked. He and Maria hovered in the doorway.

"It caused a cave-in. It's buried under a few tons of rubble, so it's at least immobile as far as I can tell. Hopefully it's dead," he replied. The elevator started to complain that the doors weren't closing. He sighed and gently waved Vanessa's hands away. "Can we take this outside? I've got a bad headache now."

"Yes," she replied.

They got up and everyone exited the elevator. Eric wobbled over to the closest thing that resembled a chair, which was a crate up against a wall, and sat down heavily.

"That was really good work," Bower said. "I thought you were going to die."

"That makes two of us," Eric murmured in reply. "Where are we? What's up here?"

"We lucked out," Bower answered. "Abandoned Marine HQ. There's a lot of guns and supplies here."

"Thank God," he muttered, then hissed in pain as Vanessa checked his nose.

"It's not broken," she said, and then handed him some painkillers, "take these. You'll be fine otherwise."

"Thanks," he murmured, then dry-swallowed them and began looking around. The first thing he saw was a pair of bathrooms across the way. "I need to wash my face."

"Fine. Gallo's deeper in, securing the area. Lopez, I need you. Found a radio station and if you can make it work, that would probably make this mess a whole lot easier," Bower said.

"On it, Sergeant," Maria replied, and the pair left the elevator lobby.

Vanessa lingered. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll be fine, you can go with them, just need a minute," he replied.

"Okay," she said after scrutinizing him for a moment.

She turned and left. Eric lingered for a few seconds in the lobby, his head ringing with pain, his whole body really, and finally he turned and moved over to the bathrooms. Passing through the door, he took a moment to clear it, making double sure nothing was hiding among the stalls, then took a piss. He didn't have to go all that bad, but for whatever reason, the act of doing it, standing there in front of a toilet and taking a leak, helped calm him down a little bit more. Once that was done, he took a long time washing his hands and his face, trying to get as much of the blood off of himself as he could. When he was finished, he dried off.

Then he took a look at himself in the mirror.

He looked like hell. Like death warmed over.

He was pale and slightly gaunt, his face stained with stubble, marred with a few cuts, scrapes, and bruises. He had dark bags under his bloodshot eyes. As he stared at his miserable self, Eric suddenly wondered if he was going to survive this. It was a stupid question, because he'd been expecting to die just five minutes ago, and honestly he'd been flirting with death ever since waking up after the incident, but somewhere in the back of his head he obviously had the idea, and goal, of getting out of here alive.

Looking at himself, he wondered if that was possible.

Would his body just give out? Would his mind?

And he had just had six hours of sleep, two meals, and a shower. And sex! Why was he still _this_ goddamned rattled? Maybe the past two years really had worn him down in all the wrong ways. What if he hadn't taken that break? The big beast probably wouldn't have been up there if they'd just kept going and he wouldn't have had to risk his life. And that was the double-edged sword of taking a break in a situation like that: if you didn't, you might really lose your shit in a bad situation, if you did, you found yourself wanting more of it.

Then again, if he hadn't relaxed and theoretically avoided the behemoth, what if there was some other insane situation where he would have died if he hadn't had that rest?

"Stop," Eric whispered, closing his eyes and resting his head against the mirror. He had to stop playing the What If? game. It was pointless. What mattered was right now, and what plans you made for the immediate future, and enacting those plans. With this in mind, Eric straightened up, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

His breath fogged the mirror, obscuring his image.

"I can do this," he whispered.

Because what choice did he have?

Leaving the bathroom, Eric followed the voices and tracked down the others. He did at least begin to feel better as he moved through the area, which was some amalgamation of a storage area, lounge zone, and security checkpoint. The place had definitely been taken over, and abandoned, by the USMC. And they had evidently left a fair amount of gear behind. There was evidence of a battle, lots of dead Marines and zombies and alien slaves around. He found the others gathered in another lobby area. Maria sat at a desk working on a boxy radio, Vanessa was inventorying medical supplies, and Bower and Gallo were gathering weapons, ammo, and other useful gear.

"Bishop, you finally get to upgrade to the real thing," Bower said, and walked over to him. He handed Eric a bulky green vest, the same as all the other Marines had been wearing.

"What is this exactly? It doesn't seem like just a flak jacket..."

"No, it isn't. It's a Powered Combat Vest. PCV. Latest piece of tech. It's got a battery in it that helps power a defensive layer that deflect bullets, knifes, flames, explosions. It won't make you invincible, but it'll give you a much better chance of survival."

"Excellent, thank you," Eric replied, accepting it.

"We're gearing up here. There's a lot. Once you get that on, help us scout the area, find whatever spare weapons we can for the battle ahead."

"Got it."

Eric took off his security vest and replaced it with the PCV, finding it surprisingly lightweight for how big it looked. It weighed about as much as the Black Mesa security vest. He saw Bower give one to Vanessa as well, and she proceeded to do the same as he had. Once his own vest was securely fastened, he set to work helping them gather up supplies. Minutes passed and as they worked, the group became aware of the sounds of conflict somewhere beyond the structure. The first time Eric saw a window, he looked out it and saw that the morning sun was up. The area outside looked like it had seen some heavy fighting, as there were some blackened craters in the baked earth and several bodies littered the lot he was given a view of.

Wonderful. How long was this going to go on for?

He found some more Eagles and another shotgun, which he kept for himself, slinging it over his shoulders and policing up whatever ammo he could find. He was almost finished poking through the area he'd chosen to search, which consisted of a pair of break rooms and a pair of bathrooms, when he happened across the best thing he'd found so far.

"Holy crap," he whispered as he hefted the new weapon and latest addition to his arsenal.

An M249 Squad Assault Weapon. Otherwise known as a SAW. It was a big beast of a machine gun that came complete with a fifty round magazine and a hell of a lot of stopping power. This was going to be _very_ useful in those dire situations he kept finding himself in. It was fully loaded and he even managed to find a pair of spare magazines for it. On top of the ammo for his Desert Eagle, and the shells he'd found, Eric was doing pretty damned good. He rejoined the others after finishing his sweep and found that everyone was back in the main room.

"Whoa, nice find," Bower said.

"Hell yes it is," Eric replied. "Any luck?"

"Yes," Maria said suddenly, and a loud click sounded, followed by a hum of static. "It's operational, Sergeant."

"Perfect. See if we can find anyone," he replied.

They gathered around the radio, listening as she switched through the channels. There wasn't much, just some heavily broken chatter punctuated with gunfire and screaming, until finally they heard a voice.

" _So far, we haven't seen anything."_

" _Understood. Just be careful, we can't afford to lose you and we need all the help we can get."_

"Obviously not military," Maria said. "Should we reach out?"

"Yeah," Bower replied, and took the mic. He cleared his throat and nodded to her. She hit a button. "This is Bower. I'm with a team of survivors and we're looking for help. Whoever this is, can you render any kind of assistance? Over."

A long pause. They all waited.

" _You're obviously military,"_ the second voice replied finally. _"We haven't traditionally had the best experience with the military."_

"I know. I understand. But we aren't hostile. We've got Black Mesa personnel here with us. We have no interest in killing anyone who isn't threatening us and we're kind of at a loose end. Over."

Another pause. _"They helped us before,"_ the second voice finally pointed out.

The first man sighed. _"Fine. We're going to have to take you at your word. Where are you right now?"_

"Storage Building Fourteen M," Maria murmured, indicating a map laid out on the radio table.

Bower relayed that information.

" _Hmm...all right. Hold on, need to find a route. We could honestly use your help."_ Another long pause. _"Okay, here is the deal: we have a way out of Black Mesa, and we will share it with you, but in exchange, you must help us achieve our goal."_

"And what goal would that be? Over," Bower asked.

" _I simply can't relay it over the radio, it's too dangerous. Suffice to say, it will help this situation a tremendous amount. If what you say is true, then I believe you will want to help. This is for the good of us all."_

Bower considered it, looked at the others. "Well?" he asked.

"I'm in," Vanessa said.

"Same," Eric replied.

"It's not like we've got a lot of options," Maria murmured. Gallo just grunted.

"Okay, fine. Tell us where to go," Bower said into the mic.

" _I believe I have a route worked out. Head north from your present position. You'll find a lot of structures, mostly warehouses and shipping areas and the like. You're going to want Warehouse Eight. Go down into the basement and find the entrance to a storage transfer facility. Work your way to its end, to the only elevator that goes down. Take it to a maintenance area. Find a ventilation shaft that takes you east, and take it to some scientist's dormitories. I have a team headed that way now to scout for survivors and they should meet you there."_

They took a moment to make sure they had the route worked out, and then promised that they'd be there as fast as they could.

And then the squad of survivors headed back out into the fray.


	15. CHλPTER 15: Surface Tension

It was absolute chaos outside.

It looked like the War of the Worlds had finally become a reality. A small army of military personnel were currently at war with a larger army of inhuman monstrosities. Eric was peering carefully through the door he'd just opened. They'd left the previous building and made their way to the first warehouse in a row of them. The others crouched behind him, weapons at ready. They'd been waiting here for almost twenty minutes now, hiding among the ruins. The warehouse they were in was partially collapsed. Sunshine spilled in through the broken-open ceiling. It looked like someone had done a bombing run on it.

When they had first encountered the Marines fighting off the alien horde, Eric had briefly toyed with the idea of going out there and kind of helping while at the same time making for their destination. He and Vanessa had the PCVs now. But Bower had pointed out that he was still wearing his Black Mesa uniform, and Vanessa was too. They'd stick out like sore thumbs and although the Marines might not immediately open fire on them, it really wasn't worth the risk. Even so, with this being the lesser of two evils, he hated it all the same.

Because he couldn't imagine that every Marine out there was a die hard fanatic or a lunatic just looking for an excuse to gun down some civilians. They couldn't all be monsters. As he thought of this, the battle raged on. It seemed to take ages, but finally, the gunfire choked off and then fell away entirely. Eric glanced at Bower, who nodded tightly. It was time to roll the dice and see who had won this particular skirmish.

Eric peered out the open door again.

There were a lot of bodies out there, but...he actually couldn't see any left standing. A lot of dead Marines, a lot of dead alien slaves and grunts. Somewhere, a building was burning. And there was the constant chatter of machine gun fire from somewhere else, but it was clear. Or, at least, it _looked_ clear. He said as much to Bower.

The Sergeant sighed. "We give it another sixty seconds, then we go. Grab whatever ammo you can, but we need to make for that building."

They all nodded and readied themselves.

Eric went out first once the time was up. Bower followed quickly behind him. The pair did a more thorough sweep of the immediate area, then waved the others out. While they spread out and started gathering whatever ammo they could, he hunted for their next target. They were standing in a little avenue created between twin rows of warehouses. There were a dozen on either side. The warehouse they'd just come out of read **WAREHOUSE #01**. And the one directly across from them was **WAREHOUSE #02**. Which meant that the one they wanted was three warehouses up on the right side of the avenue. Perfect. He joined them in gathering ammo. He managed to snag an assault rifle and found that its launcher tube was loaded.

He managed to stuff some magazines for his new rifle in his pocket before Bower barked out a quick order to move on. He was jumpy, and Eric didn't blame him. There was something in the air, and not just the fact that this was a fresh battlefield that could reignite at any moment. The squad tightened up their formation and began hustling for Warehouse Eight.

They made it maybe halfway there before all hell broke loose again.

An eerie, ominous, high-pitched sound cut loose across the area, echoing. Bower held up his fist and they all froze. Eric hefted the SAW, scanning the area, looking for whatever had made that sound. It didn't resemble anything he'd heard so far. It seemed to be coming from...up. Eric looked up. And then he saw it. A completely fresh horror was floating about thirty feet above them, hovering over the roof of one of the warehouses.

"Eyes high!" he called, raising the SAW.

It was hideous, whatever the hell it was. The floating thing had a withered body and a big, bulbous head. It stared at them with huge, luminous black eyes. As he prepared to open fire, it let out a shriek and pointed sharply at them. The front wall of the nearest warehouse abruptly burst open in a cloud of debris and the strange, buzzing sound of the alien grunt's weaponry filled the air. Twisting around as he shouted in shock and surprise, Eric saw _three_ of the big alien bastards crashing through the wall. He brought the SAW around, leveled it at them, and opened fire. The result was awe-inspiring. He cut a line of bloody eruptions up the torso of the middle grunt and split its head open like a melon, spraying the others with its gore.

The other two went down under a hail of combined fire from all the others. As Eric readjusted his aim back up to the floating thing, he cried out and jumped back, narrowly avoiding a stream of bright, pale yellow balls of what looked like pure energy. He could feel their scorching heat as they slammed into the pavement at his feet, barely avoiding him, hissing and singeing the ground as they struck. One of the others shot it through its big, bulbous head with a few well-placed rounds, and its skull split open. The creature's corpse fell to the ground.

Just as Eric began to think that that had gone pretty well for a first encounter, a hellish chorus of echoing, shrieking sounds assaulted them from all sides. He looked on in horror as a dozen of the things floated ominously into view from over the tops of the warehouses. All of them let out echoing calls and pointed, gesturing furiously at the squad, and all around them, the roars and shouts of alien grunts sounded.

"Run!" Bower screamed and opened fire.

Eric did the same, emptying the rest of his SAW into a cluster of floating bastards and killing three of them. Then he slung the big gun, switched to his assault rifle, and began sprinting. As he did, opening up on a big armored monster that stepped out from between two of the warehouses up ahead, he realized what he was seeing. If these grunts were the Privates of the alien army, then these things that were controlling them must be the Sergeants issuing orders in the field. This whole thing kept getting worse and worse.

He emptied his assault rifle and hastily reloaded as he ran, trying to manage both at the same time, then grunted as he felt the impact of a few of those electronic hornets the grunts were firing slamming into his combat vest. He had to give it to the military though: he didn't feel it nearly as much as he thought he would. Given that he had started out closest to their destination, Eric reached the warehouse first. He kicked open the door, then spun around and provided cover fire, hosing down a pair of grunts that were on rapid approach.

Bower went in and he heard a few gunshots as the Sergeant took on whatever hostiles were apparently occupying the warehouse.

"Go! Go!" he screamed as the others ran on.

Eric hit the secondary trigger and launched the grenade he'd been keeping in reserve in the launcher, nailing the middle of a trio of grunts and blowing the top half off the middle one. Those weird electric hornets were crashing into the metal walls all around him, and what's worse, they were clearly curving towards him and the others, just barely missing them in some instances. Vanessa made it through, then Gallo, finally Maria.

"Come on!" she shouted. "Get in, Eric!"

He backed up, emptying his rifle, and then slammed the door shut behind him. "That's not gonna hold!" he warned as he turned to face the others. The warehouse they'd come to was stacked with crates, big ones, creating a maze.

"Let's move it!" Bower called back, plunging into the network of alcoves created by the stacks of huge crates.

There were several dead zombies littering the area. Exhaling shakily, Eric hurried after them, joining the squad as they got moving. This was turning out to be a real crap situation. He'd hardly made it around the first corner when he heard an explosion of activity behind him. The next several moments passed in a confusion of twists and turns, with the occasional spray of gunfire as they encountered a hostile in the maze, but finally the squad reached the back wall of the warehouse, where they tracked down the freight elevator they were looking for.

"Come on!" Bower snapped as he opened the elevator.

The piled onboard the big lift and as soon as Eric was onboard, Bower hit the down button. The door closed and the lift began to descend.

"Holy hell, that was close," Eric whispered.

"Too close," Bower agreed. "What the hell were those things?"

"They looked like they were issuing orders, like they were..."

"Controlling them," Vanessa said quietly. "They're controllers."

"Just what we need," Maria muttered angrily.

"At least they seem easy to kill," Gallo said.

They were given a few moments' respite as the freight elevator trundled slowly down into the earth. Up next was the storage transfer facility, which didn't sound particularly appealing. Then again, none of Black Mesa had today. Eric took the opportunity to lean against the dirty metal wall and get his breath back. He'd been taking a lot of serious risks recently. For a few seconds, the enormity and true insanity of what was happening to him tried to crowd in on him. He was fighting _aliens_. Actual freaking honest-to-God aliens. Or maybe they were demonic things. Or genetic mutations? Whatever they were, they were actual monsters.

Up until yesterday, he really wasn't sure if he believed in the possibility of aliens or demons or monsters. Mainly, he'd concluded that aliens and maybe more paranormal stuff could exist, but he'd never see them, nor would any definitive proof ever arrive in his lifetime. And yet here was this situation, utterly shattering his expectations. There was _so_ much to consider! Even he could appreciate the sheer magnitude of potential breakthroughs that could arrive in the scientific community from what he was seeing here today.

Who knew how much they stood to gain from researching these creatures, even just their dead bodies? He wasn't really interested in it himself, he never rooted for the shady scientists who were capturing monsters or aliens in the movies for research. He rooted for the team trying to just wipe them out, because it always turned out the same way. Scientists try to exploit something freaking evil. Evil thing breaks out and causes untold death, destruction, and doom. But actually _living_ this situation? What if there were potential benefits from this? Leaps forward in the fields of health, biology, technology? What kind of energy were those things tapping into when they teleported? That kind of energy source could revolutionize his entire race.

The elevator was grinding to a halt.

He shook his head and straightened up. It just felt weird that this was basically first contact, and there were a million different potential things to think about, and he was here with a gun shooting them. Of course, they'd really earned those bullets, but still, it all felt somehow...tragic. He hefted the SAW and stepped up to the doors as the elevator settled into its niche. He was going to have to get rid of one of these guns soon. Three big guns was really pushing it. Probably the SAW would have to go, since he doubted he'd find a lot more ammo for it.

Plus, it was freaking heavy.

The door opened up. The way beyond looked clear. Eric stepped out with Bower into the old, rust-eaten chamber beyond. He cleared it quickly, tagging two exits in his mind. The place might be clear, but obviously people had been through recently. There were several crates scattered across the area and a few zombie and headcrab corpses. He was running through the best next step, remembering the directions to get to where they were going, when one of the doors across the room opened. A man covered head-to-toe in a black uniform, complete with armor, holding a machine gun stepped into the room.

For about two seconds, they stared at each other.

Then he raised his weapon.

Bower beat him to the draw, snapping his rifle up and hosing the dark-clad soldier down with a dozen bullets. He went down under the hail of fire. They all waited for the next thing to happen as the spent brass clattered to the floor with the body, but the silence played out, and finally Bower slowly began to go forward. Eric joined him. They checked the door the man had come through and saw an empty passageway.

"What is _this?_ " Eric muttered as he stood over the body. Bower crouched by it.

"What happened?" Maria asked.

"We have a new problem," Bower replied. A look of naked fear was on his face now as he prodded the corpse.

"Who the hell is that?" Vanessa asked as the others left the elevator and crossed the room to join them.

"I think...this is a member of Black Ops," Bower said quietly.

"Black Ops?" Vanessa replied.

"You know all the shady secrets and creepy rumors that go on about the government? Those of them that are true are probably tied to Black Ops," Bower replied, never taking his eyes from the corpse. "They're supposed to be culled from Special Forces and the Navy SEALs, I've heard. I don't know who they actually report to. But the point is, they're the real deal."

"Why are they _here?_ " Gallo growled.

Eric glanced at the angry Marine. He kept forgetting he was there, as he said almost nothing during their travels. "Well, there's aliens and monsters tearing ass all over the place. Makes enough sense," Maria muttered.

"So what does this _mean?_ " Eric asked.

"I don't know. Nothing good," Bower replied. He quickly patted the man down, salvaging some ammo. Eric studied the body as he did. The guy was actually covered head-to-toe, with a black uniform, and black body armor. He even had on a pair of red goggles.

He was creepy.

When Bower finished up, they moved into the corridor from where the Black Ops soldier had come from and moved silently down it. When they reached its end and passed into the room beyond, they found the answer to Eric's question about what, precisely, this latest development meant for them. They had come into a maintenance area that would give them access to the shipping facility. It was a large, broad room fitted with a dozen workstations where, at one point, techs might have worked on all manner of equipment.

Now, it was a battlefield.

Although that wasn't accurate. It was a fresh necropolis, the battle already over. They'd evidently just killed the sole survivor.

"Holy crap," Eric whispered.

"God _damnit!_ " Gallo screamed suddenly. They all looked at him. He was staring at the field of death with wide, fury-stricken eyes. He suddenly turned and kicked a nearby chair, sending it flying. "Dammit! _Dammit!_ "

"Corporal!" Bower snapped. "Get ahold of yourself!"

"What difference does it make?!" he yelled, turning on Bower. "They're here to kill us! Goddamned Black Ops is here to kill us _all!_ Marines included! We're screwed! This is your goddamned fault! If you hadn't sucked out and gone rogue-"

"Oh get a grip, Corporal!" Bower yelled back at him, stepping closer. "One rogue team, let alone a handful of them, would _not_ warrant an extermination protocol on every last Marine in this place! They would have come in and swept this facility regardless. Even if all of us had followed every last order to the last goddamned letter, they'd still have hit the nuclear option and sent Black Ops in. Don't be an idiot."

Gallo stared hard at him for several seconds, then sighed explosively and turned away. He muttered to himself and kicked one of the Black Ops corpses. Eric looked after him, wondering where exactly this might go. After a few seconds, he turned back to Bower. "So does this change anything?" he asked.

The Sergeant sighed heavily and shook his head. "Not particularly. We're about as screwed as we were before. Just one more group of assholes to keep an eye out for. All right, uh...everyone just snag whatever ammo you can and let's keep going."

Eric glanced at Gallo, who was still off on his own, staring at some of the dead Black Ops soldiers. He finally set to work, gathering up some more ammo for his Desert Eagle, his shotgun, his machine gun. Nothing more for the SAW though. There were, however, a few grenades. And a satchel charge. He pocketed it all, though knew he was pretty much at capacity at this point. After they finished searching the dead bodies, the survivors moved on, passing through the maintenance area and through a divider room that was all that stood between them and the shipping area. As they approached the last door before hitting it, Eric began to hear a lot of noise.

Gunfire and shouting, and heavy machinery going as well.

If it was Black Ops, then they at least weren't having an easy time. Judging from some of the sounds he was hearing, they must be fighting aliens. Better that than killing scientists or Marines. Eric opened the door once everyone was in position. A receiving bay waited for them. It was drenched in blood, the walls tattooed with bullet holes, bodies from both sides littering the plate metal floor. There were four huge elevators surrounding them. Three were closed, the fourth was partially open, trying to close, but it couldn't due to the fact that a pair of alien grunt corpses were clogging up the doors. Gunfire flashed from the broad corridor ahead, leading deeper into the facility.

"All right, nice and easy," Bower said, and motioned for Eric to take the lead.

He nodded tightly and gripped the SAW, then headed into the breach.

Making his way down the passageway, Eric let his senses sharpen up and spread out, seeking out threats, preparing him to react as fast as was possible. He'd spent a very long time basically in sleep mode. He hadn't seen a firefight in over two years. But he was glad, (and maybe a little uncomfortable), with how fast that stuff came right back to him. How easy it was to slip right back into combat mode.

Well, at least it was useful.

Eric reached the end of the hallway and crouched by the exit, which was a big, open doorway. The gunfire was closer now, but as he prepared to peer around the corner and scope out the situation, it choked off suddenly. He waited, then took a look. A big warehouse like room waited for him. There were a lot of dead Black Ops soldiers scattered across the vast floor, and several dead alien slaves and grunts. It looked as if they had killed each other. To the right was a row of huge, industrial sized crates. Shipping containers, really.

He began to make his way towards them, as there could be something-

An alien grunt stepped out from behind one of the huge crates.

"Oh crap!" he cried, raising his SAW.

The thing let out a roar and opened fire, sending several of those weird technological hornets his way. He returned the favor, sending off a barrage of gunfire that punched a big, ugly, gory hole in its chest and sent it staggering back. It tried to fire again, then it went down under another concentrated burst of fire from one of the others. Even as it crashed to the floor, a roar went up, _several_ of them did, and they heard a stampede of feet.

"Double crap!" Eric screamed, shifting aim.

As he opened fire, squeezing the trigger and making the SAW rattle hard in his grasp, he saw even more alien grunts start to appear from between the crates farther into the room. And then several alien slaves started to climb up over the tops of them.

"Jesus fu- _fall back!_ " he screamed, emptying the magazine into another pair of alien grunts.

Eric looked around frantically. The nearest cover was deeper into the room, so that's the way he sprinted. Those electric hornets slammed into his armor and buzzed past his skull. It was sheer luck that he managed to avoid the handful of green lightning bolts thrown his way. He got behind one of those huge crates and then frantically reloaded. Last mag. Leaning back around, he saw that Bower had found some cover behind a pair of much smaller crates closer to the door, and Maria, Gallo, and Vanessa were providing whatever cover fire they could from back at the main entrance. Eric saw a killing field ahead of him.

He got to work.

There was a trio of grunts making their way towards him, coming from near the other end of the row of containers, across the room from the others. He started with them, aiming the big gun and cutting loose. He didn't let his finger off the trigger until the gun was dry-clicking, struggling furiously to control his aim, and he managed to drop all three of the big ugly alien things. Return fire quickly forced him back into cover, especially when he took a green bolt right in the chest. He was extremely glad to see that this armor stood up to it way better than the security vest he'd ditched. The gun now dead, Eric abandoned the SAW and switched to his rifle.

He saw another alien grunt making a charge for him, roaring as it fired off a volley of yellow blurs. Immediately, he hit the secondary trigger and launched a grenade right into the big bastard. It disappeared amid a cloud of yellow gore and flaming metal fragments. Eric pulled back, hearing the thumps of the hornet things crashing into his cover, then came back around and started hosing down the half dozen alien slaves that were up top, raining down green electric hell on the survivors. He emptied the magazine and brought down half of the bastards. Eric frantically reloaded and then popped back around, opening up again.

It went on like this for what felt like too long. He rattled through almost his entire reserve of ammunition for the assault rifle, and in the end let it hang as he slapped his last magazine in, switching to the Desert Eagle. But not long after that, they had put down the last of the alien beasts, including the others who had come in, either through teleportation or other entrances. Finally, the gunfire fell silent, and the gunsmoke began to dissipate, and there was no return fire. Eric let out his breath in a long sigh as he realized it was over.

He checked on the others, terrified that he'd find one of them dead or severely injured, but they all looked to be intact. He moved to join them, still keeping a paranoid eye out for any stragglers. But he reached the rest of the squad intact. Bower had taken a few hits from the lightning, and Maria had had a very close call with one of the hornets. It had dug a bloody furrow across her right cheek and Vanessa made her let her clean and patch it up quickly. But once that was done, they began making their way across the room.

"So now what?" Eric asked.

"From what I gathered, we need to get to the other end of this facility, where we'll find another elevator, and ride it down into another maintenance bay, and then we get to crawl through a vent," Bower replied.

" _So_ looking forward to that," Eric muttered.

"Aren't we all?" Maria replied.

As they moved across the length of the huge room, the sound of working machinery became even louder. A few moments later, they found out why. The next section of the facility was a long, winding corridor that was bisected regularly by matching rectangular holes in the walls. Out of these holes came crates suspended by hooks riding along metal tracks in the ceiling. This was the sound they'd been hearing. Well, one of them. The crates seemed to be coming at a decently brisk clip. Not incredibly fast, but fast enough to warrant concern.

"Can we turn them off?" Bower asked, staring uncertainly at the crates. There were, in present view at least, four of these lanes crisscrossing the area. Four of the paths to get through. Just as Eric was contemplating this, a pair of Black Ops soldiers appeared at the other end of the passageway. He caught sight of them as they caught sight of him through the shifting crates. Cursing, he raised his Desert Eagle and drew aim. It was a pain in the ass to try and get a bead on them, but as they attempted the same, he managed it and squeezed the trigger twice. One of the soldiers went down, his head snapping back in a spray of blood.

The survivor returned fire and two rounds punched him in the chest, while a third whizzed by his neck. Then Bower opened fire with his own sidearm and put the second trooper down. And then another three soldiers appeared.

They fell to the sides of the hallway, barking for the others to get to cover if they hadn't already. And thus began another firefight.

"Is there another way around?" Eric called.

"I don't know. I didn't really see a map of this place. I don't think so," Bower replied.

Eric sighed, and then an idea came to him. He primed a grenade and then sent it skittering along the floor as hard as he could manage it. The thing rolled rapidly, bouncing a few times, and landed just short of the Black Ops trio. They went up in a cloud of flaming death.

"Come on," he said, getting up and moving forward, "we've got to keep pushing."

"Let's go!" Bower called.

Eric hurried through a gap in the shifting crates, keeping a sharp eye on the way ahead, and managed to make it through two more before another soldier showed up. Luck was on his side and he managed to catch the bastard right in his goggles. Unfortunately, he learned as he made it through the final path of this area, that luck was about the last ration he was going to get for now. Because as they headed into the next section of corridor, this one bisected by six paths, Black Ops really turned up the heat. He didn't know how long they spent making their way through that shipping facility, but it was a brutal, long, hard slog.

He gathered up whatever ammo he could along the way, but it was going away faster than it was showing up. The Black Ops soldiers were earning their keep, and their reputation. They almost killed him probably a dozen times as he shot it out with them. His armor was really doing its job, but he knew he was going to be covered in bruises by the end of this. The Black Ops troops were swift, accurate, and merciless.

But somehow, someway, by some miracle, they managed to make it through that nightmare of a situation without anyone dead or even seriously injured. They'd all gotten winged one way or another, and when they finally reached the elevator they were looking for, Vanessa insisted on patching them up quickly.

"God _damn_ that was nuts," Eric whispered as the elevator doors closed and it began to descend.

"They aren't legendary for nothing," Bower replied. He was sweating fiercely, his eyes wide, his face haggard. "It's a miracle we made it through alive. I think fighting the aliens is throwing them off, but that won't last."

"Hopefully they just keep to other parts of the facility," Maria said quietly.

"I wouldn't count on it," Gallo growled grimly.

Antiseptics and bandages were passed around and applied. The elevator came to a halt not much later and opened on an empty workshop. They cleared it quickly and found it mercifully empty. After they located the vent they were looking for, the squad took a five minute break, and then made themselves press on.

It was time to dig deeper into hell.


	16. CHλPTER 16: Security Issues

**P** **λ** **RT THREE** _  
–A SHλDOW OVER BLACK MESA–_

* * *

Today, Eric decided, was worse than yesterday.

Although he'd gotten laid today, and the sleep had been nice, and he was among his allies, he was just feeling crappier. Maybe it was because, as he crawled on his hands and knees, his lower back aching fiercely, through the ventilation ducts of Black Mesa, he had the growing suspicion that things were only going to get worse. And not at a gradual pace, but really fast. He didn't know why he had this growing sense of doom coursing through his veins like poison, only that he did. And so far, Eric's intuition had been pretty spot on since this whole cataclysm had descended on him with all the fury of an archangel.

Not perfect, but definitely at least a C or maybe even B average.

So what did that mean? He kept turning it over in his mind again and again as he grunted and sweated through the ducts, the others doing the same behind him in a ragged line. What could he do? That was the question that he kept coming back to. He had two choices. Well, technically, he supposed, he had many choices, but ultimately they all boiled down to just two. The first choice was to keep going the course and meet up with these scientists and hear them out. The second choice was to say 'screw it' and go his own way.

The only problem with that was not only would he probably be going his own way alone, significantly reducing his chances of survival, but he had no idea where _to_ go or how to freaking escape Black Mesa intact. Which also reduced his chances of survival. If it came to that, he wasn't prepared to throw in the towel. Honestly, he'd keep going no matter what, because he knew he didn't have it in him to just quit.

Or, well, he _believed_ that.

So staying the course was his only choice right now, realistically speaking. His mind fumbled as he heard a distant gunshot and he looked up ahead of him. The exit grate was a lot closer now, within about three meters.

"We're almost out," he said.

"Freaking finally," Maria muttered angrily.

He crawled the last bit of distance, closing the gap, and peered through the fine mesh grille of the vent covering. He was staring down at a hallway that extended out of sight to the left and right. There was blood on the wall ahead of him, and he could just make out a corpse on the floor. He listened closely, and thought he heard something thumping quickly around somewhere out there. Otherwise, it seemed clear.

"Okay, I'm going," he said.

Eric pushed the grille off with some effort and winced as it banged to the floor. He waited to see if anything or anyone would come running, but nothing did. Carefully, he poked his head out, looked left, then right. The corridor ended in a closed pair of doors to the left, and opened up into what looked like a mess area to the right. He dropped down and was still trying to figure out which way to go as the others came out of the vent behind him when he heard a faint shout and a gunshot. Well, apparently the decision had been made for them.

"Heading right," he said, raising his assault rifle.

"Got your six," Maria replied, coming after him.

They moved through the open doorway and into the mess hall beyond. It was, like its namesake, a terrible mess. There was a lot of blood, and over a dozen corpses, almost all of them wearing white labcoats, and he heard Vanessa make a low, sick sound as she entered the room. He knew how she felt. He remembered coming into the bloody wasteland that was his security HQ yesterday and finding all that slaughter.

They moved among the flipped over tables and smashed chairs, past the corpses and the spilled meals and scattered silverware. Eric raised his hand and silently indicated the kitchen area. Bower and Gallo broke off and moved towards it to clear it. He and the others cleared the rest of the area, checking behind smashed tables and in any shadows that gathered around the edges of the bloodied room. There was nothing in there still alive. However…

"Whoa...what's _this?_ " he muttered as he crouched by one of the dead scientists.

"What?" Maria asked, joining him. "Whoa. Ugly."

There was what looked like a bony, greenish spike sticking out of the man's right eye. After a moment, he figured they weren't going to figure it out just standing there. He moved over to the other main exit and came to stand in an antechamber crossroad section.

"What the f...what is _this?_ " he asked softly.

Dead ahead, maybe a few feet into one of the three concrete corridors that snaked away from the antechamber, was the corpse of something completely different. Maria came in behind him and stepped up next to him.

"Another new one," she muttered.

The corpse was an ugly, nasty little green bipedal thing. It was pointy, that was the biggest impression he got. Standing, it'd be maybe two and a half, three feet tall. It had legs bent severely backwards close up to where they connected to the main body, and arms like scythes. Spikes ran in a ridge down the back of its small head, which grew directly out of the chest, no neck separating them at all. And there were more spikes growing out of the top of its head, angled forward instead of up, and even more stubby spikes growing down, where its chin should be. It had a dark, round opening among these chin spikes, probably serving it as a mouth.

"Sergeant-" Eric began, then something let out a high-pitched sound somewhere nearby. He aimed left, snapping his rifle up. They had come to the dormitories, the hallways serving as home to the dozens of apartments the scientists lived in. Several of the doors were open. Farther on down the hall, maybe a few dozen meters away, something scampered out of one door and slipped hastily into another. "Contact!" he called.

He heard running footsteps, boots from behind him, and light, padding footsteps coming from all other directions. Squat figures, almost half a dozen of them, emerged from various doorways down the hallway he was looking in.

"Lots of contacts!" Maria yelled, and punctuated her statement with a burst of machine gun fire.

He opened fire as well. The first of the little green creatures went down under a spray of automatic gunfire. Light crimson blood escaped it in a spray as it dropped. Different than the others so far. What did _that_ mean? Didn't matter. He shifted aim and put down another one, and a third, as they charged down the concrete tunnel at him with disturbing speed. As one of them hit some unseen threshold, it skidded to a halt and jerked violently. Something shot out of its face and smacked him right in the stomach.

A burst of pain hit him and he realized whatever it was had penetrated the armor.

"Dammit!" he screamed as he hosed it down with gunfire.

So _that's_ where the damned spike had come from. These little bastards produced them. Great! Another one that shot stuff. He emptied his magazine by taking down the rest of them, then hit the eject and slapped a fresh magazine in. Turning around, he saw that the others had joined them and Maria had taken down her clutch of the creatures.

"Kitchen clear?" Eric asked, looking at Bower.

"Yeah," he replied. "What are these things?"

"Something new," Maria muttered. "Bastards shoot spikes...you're hit."

Eric glanced down, the pain temporarily distant as he'd finished taking them down. Now it was coming back to him. He groaned. "Yeah." He reached towards the spike.

"Don't," Vanessa said, then sighed. "Let me."

"Fine," he said.

Somewhere down the central corridor, a door opened. Eric raised his rifle again and the others did the same, all the guns pointing down that hallway. A pale face poked out into the corridor. "Um...hi," the man attached to the face said as he saw all the guns pointed his way. "Please don't kill me."

"Relax," Eric replied, lowering his rifle. "We're the ones who you're supposed to meet."

"Oh thank God," the man said, heaving a huge sigh of relief. "Is it safe?"

"Far as we can tell," Maria said.

"Now hold still," Vanessa said as she came to stand before him. She considered it for a moment. "Be prepared to get this thing off, okay?"

"All right," he replied.

She took hold of the spike firmly, then extracted it. A burst of brilliantly sharp agony blossomed in his stomach and he gritted his teeth, biting back a scream of pain. As soon as it was free, he began bleeding. He quickly went about getting out of the PCV, handing his rifle to Maria. The scientist emerged from his hiding spot and moved to join them. "Oh wow," he said, "I imagine getting hit with one of those would hurt a lot."

"Yes," Eric growled as he finished getting the armor off, "it did. A lot."

"Who are you?" Bower asked.

"Doctor Felix Laidlaw," the man replied.

Eric studied their latest addition as Vanessa set to work cleaning and patching up his wound. The man was in his forties, his hair graying, long, and unkempt. He had thick framed, square black glasses. One of the lenses was cracked. He wore a bulletproof vest under his white labcoat and had a shotgun slung over his shoulder.

"Doesn't that bother you?" Eric asked, wincing as Vanessa worked, pointing to his glasses.

"It's driving me nuts," Laidlaw replied.

"All right, Doctor Laidlaw, stay here. We're going to search the area, sweep and clear. Lopez, left, Gallo, right," Bower said.

The other two fired off tight replies and headed off, checking the dormitories one by one. "So, doc, I don't suppose _you_ can illuminate us on what the _hell_ has been happening for the past few days?" Eric asked, gritting his teeth in both anger and pain.

"Ah...yes. That. Well, I can. Although I imagine all your friends will want to hear it," he replied sheepishly.

"Yes, they will. Gah!"

"There, done. You sure do whine a lot for an ex-Marine," Vanessa said.

"Oh piss off," Eric replied as he started pulling his PCV back on.

"Ex-Marine?" Laidlaw asked.

"Got booted a few years back. I'm Black Mesa Security," Eric replied.

"Oh. That makes me feel better."

"Not scared I'm gonna cap you in the back of the head execution-style?" Eric asked. He finished getting his vest back on, then retrieved his rifle from where Maria had leaned it against a wall.

"Yes, basically. No offense to your friends, I'm sure they're good people."

"They are. You don't have to worry about them. Well..." He glanced hesitantly at Gallo. Laidlaw and Vanessa followed his gaze. "Most of them."

"Ah," Laidlaw murmured. "Noted."

A few moments later, the others returned and reported they hadn't found any survivors. "Okay, doc, spill it," Eric said, staring hard at Laidlaw, and now all the others did as well.

"Yes," he said softly. He grinned uncomfortably, then pulled off his glasses and began to carefully polish them with his labcoat, not meeting their eyes. "So, I've been here since I was a fresh-faced nerd of twenty five, two decades ago. I've seen a _lot._ What we're looking at here is a Resonance Cascade Scenario."

"English, please?" Bower asked, irritation obvious in his voice.

"A Resonance Cascade Scenario," Laidlaw said, becoming more comfortable, his tone taking on that of a professor at a lecture hall, "is a scenario in which a certain object is studied, and thus resonated, past the breaking point of its natural resonance."

"So you studied something until you broke it, and it resulted in goddamned monsters popping out of thin air to kill us all," Eric said.

"I...basically, yes." Laidlaw sighed. "Unfortunately, I don't know everything. I was not privy to the biggest secrets. Here's what I know. The creatures we are facing come from an alternate universe, another dimension called Xen. Or that's what I've _heard_ it called. We did this with teleportation technology. The morning this all happened, the men over in Sector C were doing some massive test that everyone was buzzing about. Whatever they did must have created the Resonance Cascade. Whatever test they did destabilized the walls between our worlds, allowing the creatures to pour in. And that's about all I know."

"I knew it!" Eric snapped. "I freaking knew it! Just like Doom!" He sighed heavily. "So what _are_ they? I mean, I've been seeing some wide discrepancies. Some of them have like...technology on them, and seem like they're using at least basic infantry tactics. But then some of them are basically alien animals."

"I think what we may be seeing is just that. I mean, think about it, we have dogs we train for warfare," Laidlaw replied.

"Huh," Bower muttered.

"And some of them may just be hitching a ride, so to speak. Opportunistic native wildlife."

"Okay, fine. So what's this miracle solution you've got?" Bower asked.

Laidlaw frowned, then looked around, as though paranoid someone was hiding nearby and might overhear. "Maybe we should wait until we're safe..."

"No," Bower said firmly. "If you're asking for our help, you tell us. Now."

He looked around at them, seeing nothing but hard stares, and sighed. "Okay, fine. The lab where I came from, where the others in my group are holed up, was apparently a secret lab being developed as a countermeasure for the teleportation. Naturally, if you are creating a potentially dangerous thing, you also want to be developing a way to _stop_ that thing. It's basically an anti-teleportation field. It theoretically _should_ be powerful enough to envelope all of Black Mesa. If you help us turn it on, we'll help you get out."

"How?" Eric asked.

"I don't know," Laidlaw admitted. Bower took a step towards him. "I really don't know! The one in charge, Dr. Newell, he's the one who has the plan and knows all the stuff. Help us, then he'll give you an exit route."

Bower frowned, then looked at the others. Eric shrugged. "I'm game."

"Like we gotta lotta choice, huh?" Gallo muttered.

"Fine. But you should be aware that we Marines are no longer highest on the food chain," Bower said.

"What do you mean?"

"The government has sent Black Ops death squads into this place to eliminate _everyone._ Marines included."

"Great," Laidlaw muttered. "Well, come on then. We should hurry. We have two sections to move through: administration and Bio-Research."

"And what, pray tell, is in Bio-Research?" Eric asked.

"Exactly what you think is in it. They've been at this, behind the scenes, for awhile evidently. Believe me, I wasn't happy to learn it either. Come on. I'll show you the way."

Eric sighed and they all followed after him, back through the mess hall, and then through the door at the other end of the initial corridor they'd come in through.

* * *

"Oh dear," Laidlaw murmured.

"What?" Bower whispered, freezing up.

"Sorry. Nothing. Just..my team. This is where we were hit."

Eric followed his gaze. They had just finished passing through the rest of the dormitories section, moving through another mess hall and a rec area, before finally coming into the administration wing of the sector. They stood inside of a two-story lobby furnished lavishly with very expensive couches, chairs, tables, and even a little galley tucked into one corner. It looked considerably less lavish sprayed with blood and gore and decorated with corpses.

"What happened?" Eric asked.

"The spitters," he replied. "A dozen of them came out of everywhere and surprised us."

"Is there any chance one or more of them could've made it away?" Maria asked.

Laidlaw frowned, then took a moment to study the corpses in the room. Then he sighed and shook his head. "No, this is all of them. I'm the sole survivor."

"Okay. We'll have to search them," Bower said. "What leads where, doctor?"

"That door there leads up to the second story. It's a dead end ultimately. Nothing but some offices and conference rooms up there, and a bathroom. That door there leads to a break room, a bathroom, and a storage room. Dead ahead are some offices and the security checkpoint that leads to the Bio-Research complex," Laidlaw replied.

"Did you check the second story?"

"No, we didn't get a chance."

"Okay. Bishop, you and I are checking out the second story. Lopez, Gallo, check the break area and, if it looks clear, the offices between here and the security checkpoint. Thompson, Laidlaw, I'll need you to police up the ammo from the dead here," Bower said.

"Understood," Vanessa said. Laidlaw sighed, but nodded.

They all set to their tasks.

Eric followed Bower over to a stairwell that led up to the second story of the admin area. As they stepped up into the main hallway and began checking out the first room, which was an exec-style boardroom, Eric found something interesting and maybe even a little grimly satisfying about the bloodied and destroyed state of the room. There was something pure in the evil of greed, something that was so easy to see and so easy to hate, in the men who controlled stock markets, the faceless and soulless investors and shareholders who obsessed over finances, trading, bank accounts, bonds, and all the industry buzzwords related to greed.

He thought of all the millions of people slaving away, killing themselves day by day, dying quiet deaths, saturated in misery and loneliness and existential horror, just so that they could be sacrificed on the alter of capitalistic gains. All the poor, sorry bastards forced into working jobs they absolutely hated just so that they could make a few rich assholes richer. It wasn't that he thought might made right, warlords were just as evil. More so...maybe. But there was something darkly gratifying about the thought of all those smug, soulless assholes getting the crap kicked out of them, maybe even getting torn to shreds by these inhuman monsters.

He remembered reading an article about some psychologist who had been flown out to California to basically give a group of rich executive assholes pro tips on psychological and social manipulation because they were convinced that society was going to collapse, and they knew they'd need something other than money to control their little kingdom of servants and guards who they'd take with them when they retreated to their secret, isolated, self-contained, multi-million dollar bunkers. If this all really blew up and went worldwide, well…

He hoped all those rich monsters were murdered screaming before they could get anywhere near their bunkers.

They cleared the boardroom and then moved on, but before they could get much farther, an already-too-familiar high-pitched squeak sounded and then rapidly running footsteps came at them. Both men fell back and raised their weapons. Sure enough, more of those damned spitters came spilling out of a long line of offices and boardrooms. Both men opened fire, taking them down as fast as they could, making the most quick and efficient use of their bullets as possible. Eric put three rounds into the ugly, alien face of the nearest spitter and watched its head disappear in a spray of gore. He shifted, aimed, and fired again, gunning down a second creature, watching one of its arms and several of its spikes fly away in a geyser of blood.

Between the two of them, the pair managed to mop all of the little assault without too much trouble, though several spikes had come uncomfortably close to hitting them.

"You good up there!?" Maria called when the gunfire had died down.

"Just fine!" Bower called back.

After that, it was a simple matter of clearing out the dozen or so offices and boardrooms and conference rooms spread out along the pair of halls in the L-shaped upper story. They found no survivors, and hardly anything in terms of useful supplies. When they were finished, they returned to the ground floor and helped the others finish clearing out the area. In the end, they stood at the entrance to the security checkpoint.

"So, you went through the Bio-Research complex to get here?" Bower asked.

"Yes," Laidlaw replied.

"How was it?"

"Empty, mostly, but that could have changed. And we didn't scour the whole area. It's a bit big," Laidlaw replied.

Bower sighed. "Well, let's do this then."

They set off once more into the maw.


	17. CHλPTER 17: Bio-Research

"Holy crap," Eric muttered as he finally caught full sight of the security checkpoint that served as the dividing line between the administration complex and Bio-Research. It was an absolute, bloody, sparking wreck. Consoles and workstations were shredded and smashed, furniture broken to bits, bulletproof glass bashed in by the fighting. It gave him haunting flashbacks to the Security HQ, as there were bullet-riddled security guard corpses and dried blood everywhere. The far door that led into Bio-Research had been forced open.

"What the hell happened here?" Vanessa asked quietly.

"From what I've gathered, the creatures broke containment. That was the first slaughter. Then the Marines swept through here some time later and killed several of the survivors that had gathered here," Laidlaw explained.

"Jesus," Bower muttered. He sighed. "Did you search the area?"

"Yeah, we already picked it clean in an earlier run, there's nothing left," Laidlaw replied.

"Then let's get on with it."

They passed through the massacre and the damaged door, coming into a broad lobby done up in white tiling that reminded Eric of hospitals. It was vaguely unsettling. The scent of antiseptics and blood sure as hell didn't help. He shook off the bad vibes and secured the area. There was a ripped-open door to the left that obviously led to a tram station, so it was probably a dead-end. The way to the right was a broad opening that led into another room, a larger antechamber that seemed to lead to the rest of the complex proper.

"Where are we going?" Eric asked.

"Dead ahead," Laidlaw replied, pointing to another security checkpoint doorway, this one firmly closed.

"No reason to go in there?" Bower asked, pointing to the rest of the Bio-Research area.

"No, not at present. It's, I imagine, very dangerous in there," he replied.

"Fair enough. I've had enough danger recently," Bower said.

Eric glanced through the broad opening as they passed by it, making hastily for the opposite checkpoint. He saw the unmoving shapes of corpses, a few humans and some alien slaves and maybe a few zombies as well, and other signs of conflict. Something growled deeper in, and he heard uncertain footfalls somewhere out of sight. Yes, it would be a welcome situation not to have to march through every damned monster-infested corridor and shadow-saturated room where any number of horrors from beyond time and space might dwell.

And then Laidlaw tapped something on the keypad, and it buzzed angrily at him, and he said: "Uh-oh."

"What the hell do you mean, 'uh-oh'?" Bower demanded.

Laidlaw swallowed, then tried again. Once more, it buzzed. "Crap."

"What's the problem?" Eric asked.

"It's locked down."

"Okay...so how do we unlock it?"

"We'll need an appropriate keycard, unfortunately," Laidlaw murmured.

"Wait, why can't you just call up your friends on the radio? They're on the other side of this checkpoint, right?" Maria asked.

He sighed and shook his head. "We only had one, and it was destroyed in the fighting. We scoured that other checkpoint for another, but..." He shrugged.

"Goddamnit," Bower snapped softly. "So we need to go into the Bio-Research complex, don't we?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

Bower growled and stared at the locked door. "Why is it locked?"

"I don't know. It shouldn't be. I mean, not locked down this hard. I had the code, but it's telling me it's an executive-level lockdown. Meaning we need a black-level keycard to get through it. Maybe something happened while I was gone..."

"Then let's hurry. Keep an eye out for radios and keycards, people! Form up!" Bower called.

They gathered, then headed through the opening on the right side of the room, into the antechamber. There were three ways to go.

"Okay, what's where?" Bower asked.

"Office complex is to the left, microbiology is to the right, and specimen storage is ahead," Laidlaw replied.

Bower sighed. "Okay. Lopez, Laidlaw, go with Bishop, clear microbiology. Gallo, Thompson, with me. We'll clear the offices. Remember what we're looking for. Keep it tight."

They all responded and split off. Eric thought Bower was starting to sound strained. Maybe it was the fact that they had actually made real progress, and they were actually possibly within sight of maybe getting out of this godforsaken nightmare that Black Mesa had become. He had to admit, it was starting to wear on him too. But he forced the thoughts aside, he had to. Don't let hope get in the way of the right now, because if he died, then all this would be for nothing. So instead he checked his assault rifle and then looked at the others.

Maria was looking solid and badass, but her baggy eyes and slight pallor made her look very grim. Laidlaw wasn't looking a whole lot better, but he seemed pretty steady for a scientist in this situation. Well, hadn't they demanded their scientists run those hazard courses, too? Laidlaw looked like he might still be able to make it through without a lot of trouble. As they set off towards the pair of doors that were shut firmly, something abruptly slammed into them from the other side. Eric froze and raised his rifle.

"What was that?" Laidlaw hissed.

"Back," Maria replied.

Another bang sounded and the door leaped in its frame, a dent appearing. He thought he could hear some kind of discharge going on, some odd gun firing repeatedly, but he couldn't be sure. The banging intensified and the door became disfigured, being turned into twisted metal. Abruptly, the doors straight up exploded off as what appeared to be a grenade (though it had a strange, ugly yellow-green flash) went off. An alien grunt fell forward among the smoking ruins. Eric prepared to unload into it, but quickly realized the truth.

It was dead.

Something else stalked out of the smoke. No, _two_ somethings. It was, yet again, something completely brand new, an altogether different horror from the already too many creatures he'd seen. It had to be seven feet tall, a bi-pedal thing cast in pale gray, leathery skin. It had bent backwards legs, not dissimilar to the spitters they'd encountered, and a hunchback. Its face appeared to be growing out of its chest, and it had one enormous eye dead center. Tentacles hung from below the eye, indicating what might be a mouth. It had two pairs of arms, one larger and higher up, the other smaller and lower down. The smaller pair of arms held something for each of the pair of new monstrosities. One held what almost looked like a big, flat, foot-long alien blue beetle with huge mandibles. The other held an odd, bulky length of... _something_.

He had no idea what the hell it was, beyond the fact that it looked organic and had a ridge of spines sticking up out of its back.

Both of the strange entities raised their respective weapons, and he realized they _were_ weapons, and opened fire. The one with the blue beetle-thing began launching what for the life of him looked like bolts of electricity. And they were! One of them smacked him in the arm and sent an extremely painful shock through him! The other launched some kind of ball that dripped a vile-looking yellow-green liquid.

It sailed between them and exploded against the far wall behind them.

It was a goddamned alien grenade launcher!

Every last one of them opened fire at the same time. A hail of gunfire consumed the pair of new alien horrors, peppering them and blasting them away as six guns converged on the pair, hosing them down and turning both into a whole lot of smoking, chewed up meat. The gunfire choked off and silence fell as the last of the spent brass tinked across the floor.

"What the hell were tho-" Bower began, then something let out a hiss.

Eric saw something moving among the corpses (the dead alien grunt and the two new horrors) and assumed one of them had survived. But no! It was the damned blue beetle! It was still alive! It was coming right for them, crawling along the floor. As Eric lined up a shot, it abruptly leaped up at him, squealing madly. He emptied the rest of his rifle rounds into it, splattering it across the area. Silence fell once again.

"So what the hell are _these!?_ " Eric demanded.

"I have no idea," Laidlaw marveled, "but they raise several questions."

"What do you mean?" Maria asked.

"So far," he murmured, slowly walking towards the corpses, eyes wide, his terror apparently forgotten, "everything we've seen seems to indicate that we are being invaded by a single army. Although there are few, if any, similarities among the varied creatures, there are a few key things that indicate they are all working together. Namely, they don't attack each other. The only things I've seen attacking other creatures appear to be the animals. The zappers don't attack the linebackers."

"Linebackers?" Eric asked.

"These," Laidlaw said, quickly indicating the dead alien grunt. Well, they _were_ built like linebackers, he supposed. "They work together. And look, the metal armor on the linebacker here, it resembles the shackles on the wrists and neck of the zappers. It could be that we're being attacked by other races, enslaved and forced to be cosmic grunts for some other, unseen presence. The reality is, unless those at the top know a lot more than I imagine they do, we know next to nothing about these entities. The research I've heard about does seem to indicate that wherever they come from is just one of potentially many other dimensions..."

"Are you saying these could be from an entirely _different_ dimension from the other assholes that we've been battling all day?" Eric asked with a growing horror.

"Yes! Exactly! Clearly, they were fighting the linebacker. Clearly, they have intelligence. They have these living weapons. And they do vaguely resemble the spitters. Even the blood, it's that same odd red color..."

"So are you saying we could get even worse things from any number of other dimensions?!" Eric demanded.

Laidlaw frowned. "I...don't know," he admitted. "I suppose it's theoretically possible..."

"Great! Dammit!"

"This doesn't change anything for now," Bower said, trying to reign him in, but when Eric looked at him, he saw that he had paled.

Eric sighed. "Yeah, you're right. Let's...get this over with," he said.

"Faster the better," Bower agreed.

Eric nodded and reloaded his rifle, then headed towards the bashed-in doors the pair of new monsters had come through.

"What do we call them?" Laidlaw murmured as they stepped around the bodies.

"Shock troopers," Eric replied offhandedly, almost without thinking about it.

"Good name," Maria said.

He grunted and looked around the white-tiled, blood-smeared corridor they came into. This was the entrance to the microbiology labs. The corridor extended away from them, curving out of sight. Somewhere deeper in, he thought he could hear things moving. With a soft sigh, his fear and frustration mounting, Eric led the way, Maria and Laidlaw backing him up. Doors resided along either side of the curving hallway. He moved up to the first one and glanced inside. A small laboratory awaited him. He glanced back down the hall, the way yet gone, then back into the lab. Eric sighed softly, raised his rifle, and stepped in.

This was going to take awhile.

* * *

He was right, it took longer than it felt like it needed to.

They had to clear, secure, and then pick over a dozen labs, a trio of bathrooms, a pair of break rooms, and a quartet of small storage rooms. It was a miserable, unhappy affair. Headcrabs seemed to be infesting the area, as well as a handful of zombies that had survived the conflict that had obviously swept the microbiology department. And what a battle it must have been. There were a dozen dead alien slaves, a clutch of dead spitters, a lot of dead humans, and a handful of dead alien grunts and shock troopers scattered around all over the place. Several of the labs had been wrecked by a great deal of fighting.

It got Eric's mind churning. How much more could there possibly be? With every passing minute in the microbiology labs, it was obvious that these shock troopers and spitters were going to war with everything else. And obviously they wanted humans just as dead. What was their goal? What did they _want_? He was reminded suddenly of that iconic scene from Independence Day, where the President is asking the alien what they want humans to do. And it just delivered that chilling, single-word response: _Die…_

Is that what they wanted? Is that what a shock trooper or an alien slave would answer if they could be somehow communicated with? So far, he hadn't seen even a single instant of being able to talk, on any level, with any of these creatures. He'd find it hard to make peace after everything he'd witnessed today, but he'd more than gladly welcome it. They couldn't be locked in warfare forever. He somehow had the idea that humans just didn't have the ability to survive war with these things. Look how many had been slaughtered so far.

What percentage of the initial Black Mesa population was still alive? Ten percent? That was probably a high estimate. How about all the Marines that had been sent in? How many of them were dead now? Or hell, even the damned Black Ops? He imagined they were having some difficulty as well. So far, Eric and his friends had just gotten lucky.

Well...not all of them.

Not Steven.

Not Miller.

How long before the next of them was taken due to a shot of bad luck? He didn't like thinking about it. In the end, he, Maria, and Laidlaw wound up back in the antechamber having found no radios, no keycards, and only managing to find a little bit of ammo. Not even enough to cover what they'd spent clearing out the labs. So it was basically a huge waste of time. And he was even more unhappy when he learned that Bower's team had fared basically the same way. Which meant they were going to have to go into the final section of Bio-Research.

"What happens if it's not in there?" Bower asked as they gathered before the closed doors that led to Specimen Storage.

Laidlaw sighed heavily. "I'm not sure. I'd need to look at a map. There _are_ multiple ways into the anti-teleportation labs, but this was the only one on this side. We'd need to get creative. But hopefully we won't have to."

"Hopefully," Bower agreed. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, then popped it and rolled his shoulders. "Let's do this. Heads on a swivel."

There were a series of affirmative replies as Laidlaw moved over to the keypad that controlled the door. Eric readied himself, trying to push aside his fears, his anxieties, his exhaustion, one more time. Laidlaw reached the keypad and hit the button. The door began to slide open, disappearing sideways into the wall. Laidlaw retreated from it the second he realized that there were definitely things on the other side, and they began pouring out. There were zombies. A ton of zombies. Easily a few dozen of them, maybe as many as thirty. They groaned and wailed and stumbled, reaching blindly for the survivors.

Eric and the others opened fire on them.

He kept his shots tight, putting a few rounds into the headcrabs attached to the heads of the poor bastards who'd been co-opted in death, trying to kill them as quickly and efficiently as possible. When his assault rifle ran dry, he let it hang and switched over to his Desert Eagle. He aimed and squeezed the trigger, putting one heavy caliber round into a zombie wearing a ripped and bloodied Black Mesa Security uniform, sending it toppling. He shifted aim and repeated the process, then did so again, and again until the Eagle was expended.

As he finished reloading, the last zombie fell. He waited, then holstered the Eagle and reloaded the assault rifle. It was, he realized, his final magazine for the rifle. Reluctantly, Eric switched over to the shotgun, which still had a good thirty shells to spare.

"All right, let's see if any of these poor bastards had a security keycard on them," Bower said.

They set to work, bloodying their hands and gagging occasionally as they searched the pockets of the corpses they'd produced. It was truly miserable work, and Eric was disappointed that he wasn't more used to it by now. Maybe it was the fact that they were no longer human corpses, instead these horrid perversions of life created by the headcrabs. Seconds ticked by, bleeding into minutes. Blood squelched beneath his boots as he shifted around. As the search went on, Eric found his hope for finding a keycard dwindling.

And then, suddenly, his hand clenched around something flat and hard.

He pulled it eagerly out of the pocket of the dead scientist he'd been patting down, and felt his heart skip a beat. It was black.

"Got one!" he called.

"Oh thank God," Maria muttered, and immediately stood up and began wiping her hands off on her pants.

"Let me see it," Laidlaw said.

Eric stood and passed it to him, then stepped away from the corpses, nearly overwhelmed by the reek of death and corruption.

"Yes! This is it! Come on, let's go," he said, hurrying off.

Eric and the others followed after him. Finally, they were making actual progress. They returned to the second checkpoint and Laidlaw swiped the card, hit the button, and this time the keypad gave off a much more sweet-sounding chime.

The door opened up.

"All right, let's-" Bower began.

" _Freeze!_ "

They all snapped their weapons up, looking around, trying to determine where the voice had come from. Obviously from beyond the door, but there was no one there.

"Who goes there?" Bower called.

"Back at you!" the voice, which was hard and gravelly, replied.

"Harrington? That you?" Laidlaw called.

A pause. "Laidlaw? What the hell is going on down there?"

"It's safe! Can we come in? I've got those survivors with me. Some of them are Marines, so don't flip out."

Another pause. "Fine. Get in here. Fast."

Laidlaw offered to lead the way in, and they let him, given Eric wasn't sure which way this could go. After he stepped beyond the threshold, Bower went after him, and then Eric went in after him. The others came inside. They were in a room that was bordered by a catwalk that served as a second story. The only way up to it was a ladder, which had been detached from the wall and pulled up apparently, and a small lift.

The keypad next to the lift was broken and sparking. It looked like someone had shot it.

"Close the damned door, Laidlaw!" the man named Harrington snapped.

"Oh, right, sorry. What happened?" he asked.

Eric looked up at the man. He wore a bulletproof vest, carried an assault rifle, had a Desert Eagle on one hip and a Glock on the other, a shotgun across his back, pockets stuffed full of magazines and shells, and a bandoleer of grenades and satchel charges. His hair was salt-and-pepper, buzzed pretty short, his lined, craggy face stained with similarly colored stubble. He looked middle-aged and grizzled, like a hardcore combat vet.

"So, you're on our side now, huh?" Harrington asked.

"Yes. I'm Sergeant Bower. This is Corporal Gallo, Lance Corporal Lopez. Doctor Thompson. Bishop," he replied.

"You don't get a rank?" Harrington asked, his flat, gray eyes cutting to Eric.

"I'm Black Mesa Security," Eric replied.

"Coulda fooled me."

Eric glanced down at his PCV, then looked back up. "I adapted."

"And survived, evidently." Harrington frowned, studying them intently, then grunted. "Get up here," he said, marching over to the lift. He sent it down. "Two at a time, otherwise it gets broken. Laidlaw, I want that thing on maximum lockdown. I put it on that way for a reason. How the hell'd you get in here, anyway?"

"Found a black-level keycard," he replied, then did as he was told. "Why'd you lock us out?"

"I thought you were dead," Harrington replied. "I was just coming back to double-check, see if anyone was hanging around. Now come on, we've got a lot of work to do."


	18. CHλPTER 18: Lockdown

"So what kind of numbers are we working with here? How many are you?" Bower asked as Harrington led them down a disused hallway.

"Why?" he replied guardedly.

Bower sighed heavily. "Because I've got a box of cookies in my pack and I wanna know how many each of us gets! Why do you think!? If we're throwing in with you, it's only fair that we know exactly what we're working with," he snapped.

Maria laughed. Harrington sighed. "Fine, fair enough. We've had trust issues ever since you assholes showed up and started mowing down innocent, unarmed American citizens."

"We didn't kill one scientist!" Bower replied angrily. "We didn't kill _one_ person who wasn't trying to murder us. We've done nothing but work with your people since we hit dirt in this godforsaken hellhole! Believe it or not, I did _not_ sign up to gun down US citizens."

Harrington was silent for a few seconds. "Fair enough. Besides myself and Laidlaw, there's now just two. Dr. Newell and Lance Corporal Li. Another one of your buddies."

"That's it? There's only four of you?" Eric asked.

"Well, we sent half our number with Laidlaw for ammo and to look for other survivors. How'd you do, by the way?" Harrington replied.

"Well, I brought these guys," Laidlaw answered.

"We've got ammo to spare," Bower replied. Well, they _had_ found a fair amount during their sweep of Bio-Research after that last battle.

"Good. Come on, I'll introduce you to the others, show you the ops center, and then we can finally commence with this lockdown," Harrington said.

They finished navigating the corridors and came at last into a large, open laboratory. It had two stories and most of the walls were taken up by big, bulky pieces of machinery that did who knew what. Eric scoped it out. He saw five doors on the first floor, and a stairwell and small lift that led up to the second story. As they came in, Harrington closed, then firmly locked the door, then punched something into the keypad next to it, which chirped sharply after a few seconds. To the right, on a little outcropping built into the second story, there was a workstation. It looked like the kind of place the person in charge would sit and lord over everyone else.

There was a man up there, and he scrutinized them from behind expensive glasses. Eric scrutinized him back. He was a heavyset man with graying brown hair and a look of smug superiority that seemed as though it got a lot of practice. He wore an orange labcoat. Eric wondered what that meant. Dr. Newell cleared his throat.

"Who have you brought into my laboratory, Harrington?"

"People who know what they're doing," Harrington grunted as he marched across the room to a table shoved up against the wall.

"What are we doing?" Newell asked. Eric frowned. He had an immediate and powerful dislike of the man. There was just something in the way he spoke, in the way he asked questions, that dripped condescension and implied superiority.

" _We_ aren't doing anything. Those of us with real combat experience are going to secure this complex. Which means, I'm guessing, everyone but you and Laidlaw."

"Hey, I can fight," Laidlaw said.

"Yeah, but you're more useful to us here."

"Harrington, I believe we discussed this: I am in charge of this operation and thus all decisions need to go through me," Newell said.

"And _I_ believe I told you to let me handle the goddamned security side of things. Don't you have better things to do? Like figure out where all this power you need is gonna come from?"

There was a brief pause, then Newell sighed dramatically. "So be it." He returned his attention to his desk.

"Everyone, get over here. We've gotta work fast," Harrington barked.

They all gathered around him, everyone but Laidlaw, who moved over to the other side of the room and sat down at a desk, then began typing something up. Eric studied the table Harrington was leaned over. It was mostly taken up by a map of the area. A lamp blazed down light over it and the map was orbited by pens, pencils, Styrofoam cups, bullets, and a random assortment of other things. Harrington began pointing.

"There's five ways into this place total," he said. "We just closed this one off..." he said, and made a little X with a black marker over one of the entrances to the room they were in. "And this one here is an elevator that leads down to the basement."

"We still may need access to that. I am beginning to suspect that that is where the solution to our problem may lay," Newell said.

"Fine," Harrington grunted. "But these three doors still need to be locked down and hard. Bishop, you and Dr. Thompson will take this route here, to the utilities section. Lock this door down. The code you need to input is six eight nine nine, got that?"

"Six eight nine nine," Eric confirmed.

"Good. That will initiate an executive level lockdown. This is a pretty secure area so it should give us some time to work with. Lopez, Bower, you two get to this door in the maintenance bay. Same deal. Gallo, you're with me. Li, you stay here and guard. Now..." he reached over to a trio of small black radios perched on the far corner of the table. "I just recently managed to find these. I've got one. Each team gets one. _Do not lose these._ Don't let anything happen to them. We stay in contact. Report to me when you're finished, then get back here unless someone else needs help. Anyone got any questions?" he asked.

There were none. They studied the map a bit longer, then split up, heading to different parts of the lab.

* * *

"I don't suppose you've heard of Dr. Newell?" Eric asked as he and Vanessa left the main lab and started making their way down a corridor.

"No, I haven't, but I can already tell about him," she replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I know the type. He's a bureaucrat. He's money-hungry, and power-hungry." She shrugged. "We've dealt with them before. They're annoying. Like managers and CEOs."

"Or dumbass COs," Eric muttered. "People with power are dicks."

"Typically," Vanessa agreed. "Crap. I heard something."

He had too. He readjusted his grip on the shotgun as they reached a junction. Before they actually stepped into it, he twitched his head to the right. Vanessa nodded and they each took a side. He got up against the left side, pressing his back to the wall, and mouthed a three second countdown. They both stepped out at the same time.

Eric cursed sharply as he spied a trio of spitters in the corridor dead ahead. The door they were supposed to lock down, the one that was _supposed_ to be already closed, was open. And there were more spitters beyond the threshold, milling about in the room ahead.

"Contact!" he snapped, and began opening fire with his shotgun.

Vanessa joined him in firing away and the spitters all returned fire, spitting out their horrid spikes. Eric ducked and kept shooting, emptying his shotgun into them. As soon as it was dry, he switched to his pistol. Much better for killing them at this distance. The three in the entryway went down quickly enough, but another two came in, and there were more behind them.

"We've gotta shut it!" he yelled.

"We need to move forward then!" Vanessa replied.

Eric emptied his Eagle and saw yet more of them. An idea came to him. "Fall back!" he yelled, then dropped his pistol and grabbed his assault rifle. The second Vanessa was in cover, he aimed and fired the last grenade he had in the underslung launcher. It nailed another one of the hideous alien things charging the door and hit it perfectly, exploding just beyond the threshold. "Cover me!" he screamed, and began sprinting forward.

A lot of gore was now splattered beyond the open doorway, but through the shifting, hazy smoke he could see more of them. Vanessa opened fire. Her gunfire shrieked past him. He had maybe seconds to do this. Eric slammed into the wall beside the doorway and hit the close button. The door slid shut. Several thumps sounded against it. His fingers trembling, Eric carefully punched in the four-digit code that Harrington had given him.

The door chimed and confirmed the lockdown.

He turned around, placing his back to the wall, and let out his breath in a long, heavy sigh. Vanessa grinned at him. "Well, that went better than expected."

"Yeah, sure," he replied.

A spike exploded through her face in a spray of blood, brains, and bone fragments. Eric jerked to his feet, snatching up his assault rifle. " _Vanessa!_ " he screamed as she collapsed to her knees, then fell forward, her body slack. Behind her, a single spitter was coming for him. Eric screamed at the top of his lungs as he aimed the assault rifle right at the ugly little bastard and unloaded on it. The gunfire brought it to an abrupt halt, as if it had run smack into a wall, then drove it backwards. Its crimson blood rained down everywhere as it was shredded under the barrage of bullets. Pieces of it flew off as its body hit the floor, then rolled several times. Eric emptied the entire magazine into it, then, as soon as it was empty, he dropped it and sprinted forward.

Still screaming, he kicked at the remains of the spitter over and over again.

Abruptly he tripped and smashed painfully into the floor. He tried to get up, and just managed to get to a sitting position.

Eric realized he was crying.

His radio crackled. _"This is Lopez, we've secured our ingress. Over."_ A pause. _"Hello, anyone there? Eric, Harrington, respond. Over."_

Slowly, Eric grabbed his radio and brought it to his mouth. "This is Eric. Our point is secure...Vanessa's dead."

" _What? What happened?! Over,"_ Maria replied.

"A spitter, man. One of those...it had already slipped past us. It was hiding. It nailed her right in the back of the head. God, her face is just...oh God..." he moaned.

" _Eric-"_ Maria began, but a new voice, against a backdrop of gunfire, came onto the line.

" _Dammit, this is Harrington! I need backup! Converge on my position! We're getting overrun here! It's Black Ops!"_

" _We're on our way! Out!"_ Maria snapped.

Eric climbed to his feet. Some part of him wanted to give into the enraged misery that was saturating him, especially when he turned around and saw Vanessa's corpse, but a deeper part of him knew he couldn't. There were others who needed his help. He collected his weapons, reloaded the shotgun and Eagle, and began jogging.

* * *

He heard the gunfire long before he reached the battlefield.

A cold fury had settled over him and when he reached that battlefield, which was taking place on a second story platform scattered with crates and roughly in the shape of a triangle, with the Black Ops coming in through the open door at the top of the triangle, he walked right in, aimed his Desert Eagle and started emptying the magazine. He had a really good vantage point on two of the men donned in head-to-toe black combat gear ducked down behind a stack of crates, and shot both of them in the head without hesitation.

As he pumped rounds into a third figure, return fire stabbed his way and punched him in the PCV. He grunted and fell backwards, then fired off the rest of the magazine.

"Get to cover!" he heard Maria shout.

More gunfire peppered his position. Eric wasn't in the mood for this crap at all. He ducked down behind a crate, then grabbed one of his two remaining fragmentation grenades. He pulled the pin, counted to two, then hurled it directly at the opening. It exploded almost on impact right in the midst of the collection of Black Ops soldiers streaming into the lab. From there, it was a pretty simple thing to move up, wipe out the survivors, and complete the lockdown. He punched in the code and ensured the door was locked, then looked out over the others. He came back to himself a little bit when he suddenly wondered if anyone else was dead.

He saw Maria, Gallo, Bower...where was Harrington?

A groan sounded somewhere nearby.

Bower and Maria moved over to another crate across the way and crouched behind it. Eric silently moved over to it, stepping over the corpses of the Black Ops soldiers, and joined the others. Harrington was on his back, grimacing angrily, clutching his arm. Blood oozed out from between his fingers. "Where's that doctor?" he growled.

"She's dead," Eric replied flatly.

"What!? What happened?!" Harrington demanded.

"There were a lot of spitters. One of them got her."

"Dammit!"

"Hold still, I can do this," Bower said, pulling out a medkit and crouching down. "Did the bullet go through?"

"I think so," Harrington growled. He looked at Eric and Maria. "You two, and Gallo, search those bodies. We need that ammo."

Eric nodded and turned towards the corpses. Gallo was already silently searching them. He looked as unhappy as ever.

"Are you okay?" Maria asked as they walked over to the bodies and began their search.

"No," Eric muttered. "I can't...I just can't believe she's gone. Just like that. It was like that with Steven, too. Another guy who was in my original group. Got shot in the head, just like that...so stupid, I should've seen it. But there were so many of them, and it happened so fast..."

"Eric, sometimes there was nothing you could do. You know that's how it is sometimes. Some situations are just rigged against you," Maria said.

He sighed heavily and nodded slowly. If they were reversed, he'd be saying basically the same thing. Now that the battle was over, lethargy was coming down on him again, dousing the flames of his anger. After everything that had happened today, all the death and destruction and near misses, he found it hard to stay pissed. And that just made him feel guilty. Vanessa had been his friend. And now she was gone.

The scene of her death replayed in his head again and he turned away from it. There was a job to do, and he let himself become buried in the work. Minutes passed as they searched the bodies and Bower patched up Harrington. He managed to replenish his stock of ammo for his assault rifle, which he'd depleted. When they finished, they gathered around Harrington, who was sitting with his back to the crate, looking unhappily at his bandaged arm.

"I'm getting too old for this crap," he muttered, then winced. "Can't hardly take a damned bullet anymore."

"It's not exactly an easy task," Bower said as he closed the kit.

Harrington laughed bitterly. "Get me up."

Bower and Maria helped him to his feet. A thought occurred to Eric. "Someone should, um, go get Vanessa's supplies. We're going to need it, I imagine," he said.

"I'll do it," Maria replied.

"Head back to the main lab when you're done, that's where we're going," Harrington said.

"Understood," Maria replied, and headed off after giving one empathetic glance to Eric. He watched her go, then turned his attention back to Harrington.

"They're searched?" he asked, indicating the bodies.

"Yeah. We got their ammo and grenades," Eric replied.

"Fine then, let's go back. We can get on with this damned circus," Harrington muttered.

"Harrington, what is it with you and Newell?" Bower asked as they all started heading back.

"He's got his head up his ass," Harrington grunted. "Guy was a big-shot admin or something. He's the one in charge of this lab and somehow managed to survive all this crap. He's used to bossing around sniveling research assistants and socially awkward scientists. Thinks he's better than the rest of us."

"Great," Bower muttered. "Is he going to be a problem?"

"No. He's all bark, no bite. Only thing is we need him to make this whole thing come together. Well, really we need Laidlaw I guess, he seems to know this crap, figured it out pretty quick, but all this was Newell's research initially. I think he stopped being a scientist a long time ago. Laidlaw's the one who's the real scientist."

"I guess that explains why Newell thinks he's so great," Bower murmured.

They returned to the lab a moment later, and a few moments after that, Maria rejoined them. Nothing had managed to slip by in their absence.

"So, what's the plan? And what's our exit out of this hellhole?" Bower asked, looking directly at Harrington.

"I'm not a hundred percent on our plan, but your exit..." For once, he actually looked a little sheepish. It looked strange on his grim, grizzled face. "We're going to point you towards a parking garage in what should be a quiet area."

"What?!" Maria demanded, stepping forward. "A goddamned parking garage!? Do you know if anyone's there?! If there are even any cars there?! If they're watching the exits?!"

"Of course not!" Harrington snapped. "What the hell did you expect of us? To send you packing on a goddamned magic rainbow?!"

"Lopez, stop," Bower said, staring hard at Harrington. He took a moment to collect himself. "You told us you had an exit."

"That is an exit," Harrington replied. Bower stared at him. He sighed. "Look, I don't like it anymore than you do. We _needed_ help, and you were it. If it makes you feel better, I'll go with you and help you get there."

Bower looked back at Eric, Maria, and Gallo, then back to Harrington. "Fine," he said. "What do you need us to do?"

"Thanks," he grunted, then looked up. "Newell!? Where are we at with that damned plan!?"

"I believe I have something. I've traced the source of our power problems," he replied. "Currently, the anti-teleportation field is in effect around the immediate area. However, it is on life support. We have perhaps half an hour before it collapses, if our situation is not resolved. I will need someone to go down into the sub-level and locate Power Junction Box forty eight dash C, and make whatever repairs are necessary."

Harrington sighed and looked at them. "Bishop, Lopez, Gallo, and Li, I want you to head into the basement and make that repair. I have to warn you though, it's bad down there. We sent a team down earlier and...only one guy came back. He died before he could tell us what was down there. He had most of his right arm burned off. So...be careful."

"Here, I can show you a map," Laidlaw said, ushering them over to his workstation. He called up a blueprint on the screen as they came to stand around him. "It's pretty straightforward. The lift takes you down. You take the immediate left and follow it about fifty meters, which will take you into a bigger room. Right there, on the right side, in this little alcove here, is the junction box. They'll all be labeled. It should be easy to fix. I mean...I hope. We have no idea what the problem might be."

"Do we have tools?" Maria asked.

"I've got tools," Li said quietly. Eric glanced at her. It was the first time he'd heard her speak. She seemed shell-shocked.

He was feeling a little bit that way himself right now.

"Bishop, you're in charge," Bower said.

Eric glanced at Gallo, worried that that would piss him off, but he wasn't even looking at him. He was staring at the floor, frowning deeply. His anger seemed to be slowly being replaced by...despair, maybe.

"Gallo," he said. " _Gallo._ "

The Marine looked up sharply. "What?"

"Did you get that? We're going underground," Eric said.

"I got it," he replied curtly.

"Bishop's in charge," Bower said.

"I got it," Gallo repeated tersely.

"Okay then...let's get this over with."


	19. CHλPTER 19: Collapse

The elevator was big enough to accommodate them all, but it was really slow.

Eric studied their latest addition. Lance Corporal Li was a slight woman with short, dark hair, pale skin, and distant, haunted eyes.

"So, uh, Li, how'd you wind up here?" he asked.

She seemed startled, like she'd forgotten he was there, and glanced over at him. "I was among the first wave," she replied quietly. "When we actually hit dirt, they sent us into a refinery on the surface and kept our orders from us for as long as they could. We didn't get them until we were actually in the refinery. That's when they dropped the twin bombs on us: we would be fighting aliens...and killing all human survivors. My Sergeant wasn't having it and started arguing, and we followed in his footsteps. I don't really know what would've happened if we hadn't been ambushed by those lightning bugs," she explained.

"Lightning bugs?" Maria asked.

"The ones that shoot green lightning and look like giant bugs. With the metal around their neck and wrists," Li replied. "What do you call them?"

"Alien slaves," Eric replied. "Though I've also heard zappers."

"Huh, zappers is a better name. But a bunch of them started teleporting in. We got hit so hard. There were ten of us in the beginning. Five got wiped out in that ambush and at one point we all broke and ran. They kept coming. I ran around the refinery, and then managed to get into an underground storage section and just kept pressing deeper into the facility for a long time. Eventually, I regrouped with two of my squad members, and then we ran into some scientists and security guards. There was a really close call. I think we were maybe three seconds from pulling triggers. But, given I was the highest ranking one left in the trio, I stood down and made the other two do the same. I thought they still might kill us, some of them were so mad, they'd seen Marines cut down their friends, but their leader finally calmed them down."

"Damn," Maria muttered.

"After that, there was just...a lot of running around, and shooting, and fighting, and dying. A lot of people died. Mostly we were just running around like chickens with their heads cut off. We didn't have much of a plan beyond: get to this place I heard is safe. And then we'd get there and everyone would be dead. Eventually, I and what remained of that group got here. Laidlaw was with me. Everyone else who showed up is dead now." She sadly shook her head.

"Are you...battle ready?" Eric asked uncertainly. He didn't want to be an asshole, but she seemed out of it.

"Don't worry, I'm here. Just...tired. I know I seem messed up, but I'm here."

"All right," Eric said, deciding to trust her. She _did_ seem more coherent now than when he'd first seen her, at least.

The elevator grinded noisily to a halt and the doors opened up. Eric and Maria went first, guns out, and stepped into a very dim room beyond.

"Damn, it's dark," Maria muttered.

"Flashlights," Eric replied, pulling out his own flashlight and sticking it in the appropriate pocket on his vest. He turned it on. The others activated their own sources of light. The darkness was pushed back, but the shadows still ruled the room. There were two ways to go, two big concrete tunnels, one dead ahead, one to the left.

He pulled out his radio. "Harrington, Bishop here. We're down and starting the search."

" _Understood,"_ Harrington replied.

"Let's do this fast," Eric said. "But stay sharp."

He set off, taking the lead, down the dank passageway. All around him, the concrete was old and worn and cracked in places. There were puddles of standing water here and there. They passed the occasional offshoot alcove or door, and paused to check each one. They didn't find anything, but...something was wrong. There was _something_ down here, he could almost feel its presence on the air, almost like...an electrical charge or something. Anything could be down here with them. Anything at all.

Finally, they reached the end of the tunnel and had yet to run into anything. The tension was mounting. The tunnel opened up into a large rectangular room. As they stepped into it, the air began to smell fetid and foul, like there was some kind of awful fungus growing somewhere dark and wet nearby. Well, that would make sense, given the state of this place. He started shining his light along the walls, taking a few steps deeper into the room, then froze. There was something along the wall in the far left corner.

"What...is that?" he muttered.

It was some kind of substance on the concrete floor, something spongy and green-brown, and ugly. He immediately suspected it was where the stink was coming from.

"Whoa, creepy," Maria said.

"This can't be a good sign," Li murmured.

"We really should find the junction box," Gallo said tightly.

"Yeah," Eric agreed. "Let's uh-" He froze as a thumping was heard. Footfalls, _heavy_ footfalls. Coming closer from deeper in the large room. "Break apart, break apart!" Eric hissed as he raised his assault rifle.

He moved away from the others as they did the same, spreading apart, facing the direction of the footfalls. They were almost galloping, drawing closer. The concrete beneath his feet thrummed with each impact.

And then something charged into the light.

It was _big_ , whatever the hell it was, and brand new. It stood seven or even eight feet tall, supported with four legs spread out evenly. The torso atop the legs was hunched forward, with huge blunt scythes for hands, and a face that could hardly be called a face, more a mound of mostly brown flesh with big tusks and tentacles hanging out of it. Eric heard himself shout in disgust, and opened fire. The others joined him. As the gunfire converged on the beast, it began moving again, vibrating, and _glowing_. A strange purple light filled the area.

Right before it collapsed under the combined assault, it jerked and a ball of dancing, writhing purple energy shot forward, towards Eric. He threw himself to the side and cried out as he felt its scorching heat in passing, his exposed skin stinging badly. As he tried to get to his feet, there was suddenly an explosion that sent him rolling a few more times. He grabbed up his assault rifle and rose to one knee, studying the creature. Where it had been, there was just a smoking pile of chewed up, charred meat.

"It exploded?" he asked incredulously. "What happened?"

"I saw it," Maria said. "It died, then it started vibrating, then it just burst from within."

"What _was_ that?" Li whispered.

"Dead, now. Let's find that damned junction box before any more of them show up," Eric replied as he got painfully to his feet.

Li murmured in agreement and he sent the three of them off to find the box, then he moved slowly closer to the charred remains of the alien creature. He needed to know something. As he drew closer, he saw what he was looking for: blood. Its blood was the same color and consistency as the shock troopers and the spitters. So it was part of this second race of invading inter-dimensional horrors. This was pretty radically different from the others...then again, hadn't he been saying that ever since this crap had hit the industrial strength fan?

He pulled out his radio again. "Harrington, Bishop again. We ran into some kind of giant creature. I'm pretty sure this is what killed everyone else down here."

" _Wonderful. I'm guessing it's dead."_

"Yeah. It's very dead."

" _Good. Did you find the junction box?"_ His voice was coming back laced with static now.

"Not yet-"

"Eric, we have a problem," Maria called.

Crap, now what? "Give me a minute." He turned and jogged over to where they had gathered in a small alcove. Li was studying what appeared to be a burned out junction box while Gallo leaned against the wall, standing guard.

"What?" he asked.

"This is damaged beyond repair," Li said.

Eric groaned. "Seriously?"

"Yes. That's not the problem though," Maria reported grimly.

"It's not?"

"No. I mean, it's _a_ problem. _The_ problem is that it was done intentionally. Bullets were put into this junction box, and the wires were ripped out."

"What the..." Eric looked around suddenly. "Do you think-"

He heard a whisper of a gunshot and several things happened at once. Maria shoved him out of the way as he felt a spray of blood hit him and she shouted and fired off a shot. At the same time he heard and saw Gallo's head smack against the wall he was standing against as a spray of blood flew out. Stumbling, Eric managed to catch himself and spin around. He saw a person, a thin person cast head-to-toe in sleek stealth armor, collapsing to the floor, a neat hole in their forehead.

"Holy crap...that was an amazing shot," Li said softly.

"Who the _hell_ is that?!" Maria demanded.

"Black Ops," Eric whispered, he jogged carefully forward. "Cover me."

He crouched by the body. The person, clearly a woman, was covered in what almost looked like a black wetsuit, complete with night-vision goggles and a silenced pistol still clutched in one hand. She had throwing knives and explosives in a bandoleer.

"It's like a freaking assassin or something," he called, straightening up and looking around. He hadn't heard her at _all_. "We need to go, now. Get Gallo's things, we're leaving."

"Already on it," Maria replied.

Eric grabbed his radio again. His hand was shaking. "Harrington, Black Ops was down here. The junction box is screwed." He paused, listened. Just static. "Do you read me?! Black Ops was down here with us!" Nothing. "Goddamned piece of crap!"

Maria gathered up Gallo's ammo and weapons, passing some of it to Li, and then the three of them hastily left the huge room and began jogging back down the tunnel. This definitely changed things. They were going to have to come up with a different plan. His mind raced as they got back to the elevator, boarded it, and began to ride it up. Maria stepped closer to him, a rag in her hand. "Here, Eric," she whispered, "you've got blood on you."

She began to wipe at his face.

"Thanks," he murmured.

When she was finished, she paused, then she kissed him. Then pulled back and shook her head. "God...he was an asshole, but..." she shuddered.

"Yeah," he muttered.

Another of their number was dead. This was happening too fast. Way too fast. That could have been any one of them, it was blind luck it hadn't been him or Maria. He shook off the thoughts and made himself refocus.

"Li, do you have any ideas how we might fix this? Or deal with it?" he asked.

She sighed. "I don't know. Newell or Laidlaw will know for sure, but I think we'll have to head to an adjacent lab or maintenance bay maybe. We'll need to reroute power somehow. They should know the best places to do that, or at least I can look at a map and figure it out..."

The elevator ground once more to a halt.

The doors opened onto the metal corridor. Eric strode out of the lift, hurrying down the hallway. "Harrington! Laidlaw! We got a problem!" he called.

No one responded.

"Yo! You listening to me!?" he called.

Eric realized something was wrong at exactly the wrong second: right as he crossed the threshold. He caught sight of about a dozen black-clad soldiers, and then something slammed solidly into the side of his head.

He heard Maria scream, and a gunshot, and then all went dark.

* * *

"They were right about you! You son of a bitch! Bailey and Backman were right about you, you money-grubbing bastard!"

"Shut up, Laidlaw."

Eric's eyes fluttered open and he groaned. He was laying on his stomach, his cheek pressed against the cold metal floor of the lab. He saw Maria lying next to him in a similar position. He tried to move, but she shook her head sharply.

"I can't believe you, Newell! You don't give one crap about the science! You sold us out, you son of a bitch!"

"I said shut up, Laidlaw. Someone shut him up."

Eric raised his head and saw a number of black-clad soldiers scattered across the lab. He just caught sight of Laidlaw, on his knees with his hands behind his head, getting punched by one of the soldiers.

That didn't seem to take the fire out of him, though. He grunted as he fell over, then straightened up and spat a mouthful of blood. "What deal did you cut with them, you sack of dirt!?"

Eric heard a sigh and glanced over. He could just manage to get a glimpse of Newell and one of the Black Ops soldiers standing on the second story at the primary workstation. "Dr. Newell, how long will the data download take?" the Black Ops man, presumably their leader, asked in a clipped tone.

"Just another few minutes," Newell replied smoothly. Then he fixed his smug, infuriating superior gaze on Laidlaw. "Laidlaw, these men are smart. And they work for smart people. They recognize the situation here. They know that we have crucial, breakthrough technology that would catapult the United States to the top of the food chain and keep it there forever. I have the knowledge, so they offered to get me out and set me up with a lab and a team and continue my research. I'd be an idiot to say no."

"I talked to Dr. Backman, Newell...he told me you haven't been a scientist for a long time. You cared in the beginning. You were a genius, you made breakthroughs! You used to _care!_ But then you started making real money, and you got lazy and soft, and all you do is dick around in your goddamned office all day. All you care about is the money! You're not even a real scientist anymore!"

"Think what you want, Laidlaw, but I'm the one up here and you're the one down there. At the end of the day, isn't that all that matters?"

Eric took the opportunity to scan the area. He counted a baker's dozen Black Ops troopers. He saw Harrington across the lab, on the floor, not moving at all. After a second, he realized why: there was a hole in his head. The man was dead. He could see Li, though. She was on the floor too, and still breathing. She looked at him with wide eyes. And there was Bower. He was still alive, but he looked livid. He was red in the face and shaking with rage.

"Okay, the data download's just about finished. Let's wrap this up," Newell said.

"Get to it," the leader said, looking down at them.

One of the soldiers approached Bower, who sat up. "I'm going to kill every last one of you!" he screamed, spit flying from his mouth. "You hear me?! _Every last-_ "

The soldier aimed a Desert Eagle at his head and squeezed the trigger. Bower's brains exploded out the back of his skull and he slumped to the floor.

Eric felt the whole world drop out from beneath him as that sight was burned into his retinas. He was going to die, he realized all at once. He and Maria and Li and Laidlaw were all going to die. They were going to be executed and there was absolutely nothing they could do about it. Another few soldiers were approaching him and Maria now.

"All right, it's done," Newell said. "You can secure me safe passage out of here? Because this isn't the complete package. Some of the crucial data was destroyed during the incident. I've got the rest of it in my head."

The Black Ops leader sighed heavily. "Of course you do. Yes, Doctor, we can secure you safe passage. Just get your crap together and-"

The lights flickered abruptly. A loud, dying hum sounded. The Black Ops troopers hesitated, then looked around, their weapons raised.

"What was that?" the leader demanded.

"The anti-teleportation field ran out of power. It's nothing. We can leave," Newell replied.

The leader began to respond, but then a new sound filled the air. A tremendous humming that sent waves of vibration through Eric's body. Now what was happening!? Suddenly, a brilliant purple light flashed and the next thing he knew, a dozen shock troopers were standing among the laboratory. There was perhaps one second, maybe two seconds, of absolute stillness. And then the slaughter began. Men screamed and gunfire sliced through the air, both human and inhuman weapons sounding off. Eric leaped to his feet, deeply grateful that they hadn't bothered binding his hands, and snatched the assault rifle from the hands of the Black Ops trooper nearest to him. He kicked the man in the chest and sent him stumbling back into the waiting arms of a shock trooper, who grabbed his head with its two larger hands and ripped it off in a tremendous spray of blood.

Absolute nightmarish chaos reigned as he looked around. Maria and Li were scrambling to their feet. Laidlaw suddenly stumbled into him.

Eric shoved him forward. "Elevator! Now!" he screamed.

And then they were running. He felt a few rounds punch him in the back of his vest, stinging painfully, but amidst all the shrieking, hellish conflict somehow managed to get to the hallway leading to the elevator intact. As soon as he hit the corridor and saw no one and nothing threatening down it, he spun around and counted heads. Laidlaw blasted past him. Then Li. He looked around. Where the hell was Maria?! Then he saw her, a shock trooper in between the two of them. Eric raised his rifle and pumped a dozen rounds into the thing's back.

Maria took the opportunity to run past it, snatching up a shotgun in passing, and then they were running.

Laidlaw and Li were already in the lift. As soon as the pair were in, Laidlaw hit the button, the doors closed, and the lift began to descend once more.

Shaking violently, Eric asked: "Now what?"


	20. CHλPTER 20: Beneath

For the first few moments after the lift hit the bottom and they got out of it, Eric was more reactionary than anything else. All he could think of was putting distance between them and where they had come from, with some vague but overwhelming knowledge that they could still be in immediate danger, all of this overlayed by the vision of Bower getting shot in the face point blank, like a goddamned gif looping again and again.

"Where?!" he snapped as soon as they were back in that initial room.

"Ahead," Laidlaw replied, gasping for breath.

And then they were off again. They moved for a ways down a lengthy concrete tunnel, running at first, then slowing to a jog, following Laidlaw's instructions each time they reached another junction or the direction they were going ended.

They kept this up until he heard Maria say, "Wait, wait. Stop! We can stop."

And he skidded to a halt, assault rifle raised. He could barely see anything in the dim light of the room they now found themselves in. A cursory examination of it indicated it had once been used for some kind of industrial purpose, as the far left wall was taken up by a row of enormous metal vats with instrumentation panels attached to their bases, and then later had been repurposed for storage, like half of Black Mesa, as a line of shelves and a few piles of dusty crates took up the right side of the room. There was, he realized, actually no other way out than the way that they had come in through. Well, a good a place to stop as any, he surmised.

"Goddamn," he whispered as he staggered over to the nearest wall and sat down with his back to it. "I just...that..."

"That was a bit much," Maria said as she sat down next to him.

"Uh-huh," Li murmured. She just sat down in the middle of the floor.

Laidlaw said nothing. Instead, he began silently patting down his various pockets. First, he fished out a battered pack of smokes, second came a battered silver Zippo. His hands shaking, he patted a cigarette out, put it in his mouth, then lit up.

He snapped the lighter shut, took a deep pull on the cigarette, then let out a formless cloud of smoke in a long exhalation. "God, that's better," he muttered. Cigarette hanging from his lips, he looked around. "Anyone want a smoke?"

"No," Li murmured.

"I'm good," Maria replied.

Eric considered it for a long moment. He'd smoked off and on throughout his adult life, but he'd basically given it up a few years ago. With a sigh, he rose to his feet and walked over. "Yeah, I'll take one. Could use it after that. What brand is that?"

"Yeheyuan," Laidlaw replied as he passed Eric a cigarette.

"Never heard of it," he murmured.

Laidlaw lit the cigarette, then replaced the pack and the lighter in his pocket. "They're a custom brand, hard to find. You gotta order them special."

"Huh." He took a pull on the cigarette, then nearly dropped it as he started coughing. "Damn, there goes two years."

"Five for me," Laidlaw said with a sigh. "I was five damned years clean until last month. The pressure started piling on and I just...got another pack sent here. Then three more." He shook his head. "But if we're gonna die anyway..."

"We're not gonna die," Eric said, but he said it with less conviction now than ever before.

"We're probably going to die," Maria said.

He sighed. "Regardless, we're not giving up."

"Where do we go? What do we do? Everything just blew up in our faces, like everywhere else I've gone since hitting dirt..." Li asked softly.

"Laidlaw?" Eric asked, looking at the man. "You seemed to know where you were going."

"I do. I was studying these maps because I thought they might make a good escape route just in case everything went south. Newell was making me paranoid, putting me on edge...now I know why." He shivered in anger, biting down on the cigarette. "That bastard...well, he's dead now. And we're not. By his own logic, _that's what counts,_ right? God, I hate him. I can't believe-no, of course I can. I can totally believe he'd sell us out." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's done. What matters is getting out of here. The plan is the same as it was before, only now we're just cutting to the end: we get to the parking garage."

"So where is it? How far away?" Maria asked, slowly getting up and walking over to join them. Li did as well.

"Unfortunately, from what I was seeing based on those maps, the way we came in is the only way up for quite a ways. The nearest way up is an emergency lift leading into...somewhere, I'm not sure, it wasn't clear on the map. I know _some_ of this area, but I didn't have enough time to really get it all figured out in my head. I at least know that there's a control center of sorts for the maintenance bays and heat exchanges down here, and I can get us _there._ And from there we can hopefully find a map that will lead us to where we need to go. From there...I don't know, admittedly. Harrington knew the way more than any of us. But yeah, we get out of these awful tunnels, and keep pushing until we find that parking garage, and then, God willing, drive out of here."

"Then what?" Maria muttered.

"Let's just take this one step at a time. We've got to survive the tunnels first, and based off of our previous experience, freaking anything could be down here," Eric replied.

She sighed. "Yeah, I guess so. And on top of that, we lost almost everything..."

"Yeah. Damn. Nearly forgot about that," Eric said, glancing down at his assault rifle. "Okay, everyone do an inventory check, see what they forgot to take off of you."

They spent a moment hunting carefully over themselves. He was very glad to see that they all still had their armor on them. They searched all of their pockets carefully, but in the end, they didn't seem to have a lot on them. Besides the assault rifle he'd snatched up, which didn't even have a full magazine in it anymore, Eric only had a combat knife on him. He'd lost everything else, even his unique crowbar. Maria had that shotgun he'd seen her grab, and just one full load for it. Li had a fully loaded Desert Eagle.

Laidlaw was unarmed, though he still had a few shotgun shells and a magazine for an Eagle on him, which he passed out appropriately.

"This is looking pretty bad," Eric muttered.

"Yeah, tell me about it. We run into another one of those giant things and we're screwed," Maria replied.

"Giant things?" Laidlaw asked uncertainly.

"We found what was killing people down here. Well, besides Black Ops. It's some huge, four-legged monster that shoots balls of energy. We killed one, but there might be more. Although..." Eric sniffed the air. "I don't smell that awful reek in this direction, and I don't remember seeing any of that awful spongy stuff, so hopefully we'll be all right." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck. "So...we get to that command center. How far away is it? You're sure you can get us there?"

"Roughly," Laidlaw admitted. "I'd say, if we don't run into anything, it's maybe five minutes away."

"Fine. Let's do it. I'm in the lead, Maria brings up the rear. You two stay in the middle. Everyone be as quiet as possible, and if at all possible, avoid any confrontation. We do _not_ have the ammo for a sustained firefight."

They all responded affirmatively and, a moment later, left the temporary sanctuary of the room they were in.

* * *

Eric kept waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, but eventually he accepted that this was about as good as it was going to get. It wasn't darkness, per say, more dimness. It was so dim down here. Just one more thing to pile onto the stress. He was admittedly finding it hard to function as well as he had before. After everything that had happened, all the insanity and blood and terror, that situation back in the lab with Newell and Black Ops...it felt just out of control. This whole thing was getting desperately out of control.

They had to get out of here.

"Stop," Eric whispered, freezing and raising one fist. He hated that he even had to say anything, but the lighting was too bad to rely on hand signals. The others froze up behind him and they waited, listening.

Something shuffled and moaned up ahead.

Zombie. Eric pulled out his combat knife. "Stay," he whispered, and then slowly began to go forward. If it was one zombie, he could kill it fast with a good stab to the head. But at the very least he needed to scope out the situation. The current hallway they were in terminated in an L-junction, breaking off to the right. He moved up to the corner, moving as silently as he could manage, listening to the sounds of the zombie around the corner.

Its footsteps sounded...heavier, he realized.

That couldn't be a good sign.

He finished getting into place, then carefully peered around the corner. He hesitated at what he saw. There was, indeed, a zombie. He could tell simply by the smell. But...the vague outline he was looking at looked about a foot taller than any of the zombies he'd seen so far. Was he looking at a mutation? Or the next step in their evolution? The thing let out a deep growl. Oh crap, had it sensed him? Yes, it was definitely coming closer. He looked down briefly at the knife in his hand. Suddenly, Eric didn't feel so confident about it.

He sheathed it quickly as he saw the figure getting closer.

Okay, it was _definitely_ bigger. The torso was way bulkier and the arms looked longer. He took aim as it drew closer. Oh man, its claws were _way_ longer. Holy crap, what _was_ this thing? Abruptly, it stiffened, then shrieked. Eric squeezed the trigger and put a burst of automatic fire into its head. It staggered, but didn't go down! He put a second burst into its oddly-shaped skull. That did it. Man, this thing was tough! Suddenly, the corridor was filled with the sound of moans and shrieks.

"Get up here!" he screamed.

He heard running footsteps from ahead and behind as he readjusted his grip on the assault rifle. This was going to be really tight, a total blind crapshoot as to whether or not they could survive. But he'd rather risk a direct assault than trying to double back or slip around them or get separated. There were at least a dozen of them, he thought. Maybe more. The others joined him, lining up beside him, (except for Laidlaw, who hung back, given he had no weapon), just barely ahead of the horde of zombies.

There were a lot of them. Thankfully, most of them were the regular kind, though he saw two or three of the new bigger ones mixed in. His instinct was to tackle them first, so he did, especially given targeting their heads was easy because of how tall they were. Maria and Li opened fire at the same time he did. He put a barrage of bullets into one of the new big bastards and dropped it, switched and repeated the process, and dropped the second one. As he was preparing to kill the third one, Li put it down with two good shots to the skull with her Eagle. He then adjusted his aim lower and began capping heads of the encroaching zombie horde.

He managed to take down six of them before his assault rifle ran dry. He was tempted to use it as a bludgeon, but he figured there was at least a semi-decent chance of some of these bastards having ammo on them, so instead he dropped it behind him and pulled out his knife. The other two had already reloaded and were down to their last bullets and shells. One of the zombies stumbled within reaching distance of him, groping with its awful, grasping claws, and he drove the tip of the blade into its malformed, alien face.

It went rigid and dropped as he ripped the blade out in a spray of yellowish blood. He grunted, driving the blade into the face of another freak as it came for him. The zombies started to crowd in around him. He heard the two women firing away, and then that died off, and they were among him with their own combat knives. He lost himself in a sea of mutated flesh, stabbing and shoving and punching, trying to keep the zombies from overwhelming them. Mostly they hit his PCV but sometimes one of his arms would take a hit. He didn't know how long he fought there, only that by the time the last zombie fell, he was breathing heavily and soaked in sweat and blood, dizzy with the effort of staying alive and the pain of their attacks.

"Damn," he whispered after several seconds of silence passed. "That was a bit much."

"We need to search them," Maria replied.

He nodded slowly, staring at the corpses. There had to have been a good two dozen of the bastards. "Yeah," he muttered, "Laidlaw, help us."

"On it," the scientist replied.

They spent the next several minutes picking through the dead bodies. Almost half of them had been Marines, and although almost none of them had weapons on them, (one actually did still have a Glock in a hip holster, which they gave to Laidlaw), they did still have a decent amount of ammunition among their varied pockets. Eric managed to find a stack of a half dozen magazines for his assault rifle, which he promptly retrieved and reloaded. Maria and Li managed to find a decent supply of ammo for their own respective weapons.

Before long, they were back on their path, leaving the small sea of corpses and yellow-red blood behind.

"What were those tall zombies?" Maria asked quietly.

"I think the next step in their evolution," Laidlaw murmured.

"Why is this even possible? I mean, these things come from another _dimension,_ why can they so effectively couple with humans and morph them into monsters? I mean, those zombies aren't too dangerous, but those huge ones looked lethal," Eric asked.

Laidlaw shrugged. "Unfortunately, I have no idea. It could just be that they're naturally highly adaptive. Or it could be that they were engineered. I mean, these things would be pretty effective biological warfare, you know?"

"God, there's a nasty thought," Li muttered.

They all fell silent once more as they pressed on, moving deeper into the dim, concrete labyrinth beneath Black Mesa. Thoughts haunted his pained skull as Eric led them deeper, following Laidlaw's instructions. He again found himself returning to the thought of his own mortality. At this point, he was no stranger to close calls and death-defying stunts where he risked his life. If someone else was reviewing this situation somehow, they might even think he didn't care whether or not he lived or died. But he was risking his life specifically _because_ he wanted to get out of here alive. In the course of the past two days, it seemed crucially necessary more than once. And that hadn't changed. Yet, as he walked on, he was truly beginning to wonder…

Was he actually going to make it out of Black Mesa alive?

He'd kept hope locked up somewhere dark and distant out of some kind of self preservation or survival instinct. He felt like he'd lose it if he kept thinking about making it out of here, so he pushed it down. And here they were again, on the way out, trying one more time to escape this psychotic slaughterhouse, and so he found himself really wondering if they even _could_ make it. But even if he did, even if they all somehow made it to the parking garage, and there was a working car there, and they drove out of Black Mesa...then what?

Where could they go?

He supposed it all depended on how widespread this was. He'd been assuming that it was pretty much contained to Black Mesa, but what if it was elsewhere? Beyond the simple information Laidlaw had given him, he had basically no idea what was happening. If these inter-dimensional beings were dropping in unannounced around here, was there anything to stop them from doing so a few miles away? A hundred miles away?

Anywhere on the planet?

Did they have even a _single_ idea to stop this?

Based on what he'd seen and experienced over the past two days, he very seriously doubted it. Then again, anything could be going on. But even if it was somehow contained to Black Mesa and pretty much everything could go on as normal...he and Maria and Li and Laidlaw were almost certainly fugitives. The government was obviously willing to murder almost everyone in the facility to keep this secret, and it would seem even more imperative to ensure silence from any potential survivors of Black Mesa, because not only did they know about all sorts of top secret things and the fact that inter-dimensional things existed, but they also knew that the government was willing to _murder everyone_ to keep it quiet.

Was there a way out of this?

The only idea he saw, and it was probably a temporary solution, was getting out of the country. Mexico was the obvious choice, at least for now, given it was closest. But...as much as he'd been not liking his boring life here at Black Mesa, Eric didn't exactly relish the idea of a life as a fugitive, constantly on the run, always on the lookout for government agents or anyone they'd hired to murder him. It wasn't really a way to live.

What choice did he have?

Ultimately, as they reached their destination, he told himself what he'd told Maria: first, escape Black Mesa. None of this would matter if they couldn't even get that far. He'd deal with this one dangerous situation at a time.

The place they were looking for was a water-damaged, banged up old control room that looked like it was a punishment duty for whoever worked down here. It had obviously been used as a temporary outpost at some point, as there were crates stacked up in front of the windows where possible, and the remnants of a few meals and some discarded medical supplies leftover from emergency treatments were scattered across some tables and the floor around them. They found a map on one such table and gathered around it after clearing the area.

"Looks like whoever was here was already working on this problem," Eric murmured as he studied the map. It had a lot of Xs on it, potential routes, maybe...or dead-ends.

"Give me a moment," Laidlaw murmured, and spent a little bit muttering to himself as he ran his finger across the map several times.

The only thing that Eric could clearly see was that, not all that far from here, there was a circle in bright green marker. It was the only one of its kind, and he figured it was probably their best way out of here. A moment later, Laidlaw came to the same conclusion.

"There's just one thing..." he murmured.

"What?" Maria asked.

"There's still no indication of what the hell this place _is._ Everything else is at least basically labeled, but this area here is just a dead zone..."

"So it's going to be a surprise," Eric muttered as he checked over his assault rifle. "We've certainly had enough of them today. Come on, let's go."

Once more, they set out into the darkness.


	21. CHλPTER 21: Escape From Black Mesa

"So do you even have a guess as to what we're walking into?" Eric asked as they all waited for the elevator to finish coming down. They'd finally tracked it down, and had only run into a handful of zombies and headcrabs on the way over.

"I give fifty-fifty odds that it's either some abandoned warehouse that they forgot to label when they updated the maps...or a top secret laboratory doing some kind of crazy ass research," Laidlaw replied.

"That's...there is _such_ a wide difference between those two things," Maria said.

"Yep," Laidlaw agreed grimly.

Eric sighed heavily. The elevator abruptly settled into place. After a second, the doors slid open. And revealed a nightmarish interior.

"That's a bad sign," Li said softly.

There was a _lot_ of blood on the walls, and several Black Ops corpses.

"Great," Eric muttered, then stepped inside. "Let's do this if we're gonna do it."

The others followed him aboard the lift. He quickly began patting down the Black Ops soldiers, managing to appropriate a new sidearm: another .357 six-shooter Magnum revolver. Despite everything, it oddly made him feel better to have it, especially because he managed to find about half a dozen quick-loads. They gathered whatever guns and ammo they could scrounge as the elevator ascended, then Eric had them get up against the walls. Tense silence passed as the lift ascended ever upwards.

Abruptly, it settled into place.

"Carefully," Eric whispered, and then the doors opened.

He peered out and bore witness to a visage of bloody carnage. Whatever the room beyond might once have been, it was now a necropolis. White tiles and high-tech machinery was covered in blood, and he immediately caught sight of over a dozen corpses spread out in random poses, broken by death. There was a mix of Marines, Black Ops, and shock troopers and pit drones. They had had one hell of a shootout, it seemed.

Somewhere ahead, he could hear some more fighting.

Slowly, Eric moved out, clearing the room with a sweep of his rifle. Nothing lived in the immediate vicinity. There were three doors, one in each wall besides the back wall they'd come out of. Two looked smaller and less important, the one dead ahead seemed like the main entrance. It was closed and that's where the sounds were coming from.

"Maria, check the left door. Li, stand guard. Laidlaw, find us a map," Eric said.

They all responded tightly and headed out to complete their tasks. He broke right and checked out whatever lay beyond that door, finding only a simple break room that was also trashed. It looked like a shock trooper had gotten into a brutal, close-quarters fight with several zombies. Once that and the other room (a small bathroom) were clear, he moved over to the main door. It was a pair of metal doors, the kind that slid into the walls, with small windows built into them. Peering cautiously through one, he caught sight of several shock troopers moving around, and a lot of dead Black Ops. Well, great. The troopers didn't seem to realize they had company.

Eric moved away from the door to join the others. He wanted to lock it down, but he also didn't want to accidentally open it, so he just left it as it was for the moment. "We've got about half a dozen shock troopers in the next lab," he reported.

"Great," Maria muttered.

"I have a way out," Laidlaw said. They gathered around at the workstation he was working at, studying the screen. "It's pretty straightforward, surprisingly. So, there are three more rooms in this laboratory, which appears to be some kind of advanced weapons testing lab."

"That has my attention," Eric replied immediately. "Anything useful?"

"Maybe. The actual weapons will be two rooms ahead of us. The rooms are laid out in a straight line. We need to get through all of them to another elevator, take it to the surface to a Security HQ. From there, we have to cross a small valley, and at the end of that valley _should_ be a parking garage. And then, well...ideally, that's it," he explained.

"God, I hope so," Li muttered.

"All right. Gather up as much ammo as you can from these corpses. This is going to be the final push...hopefully. Everybody, take it slow, take it steady. I want every one of us focused and in the moment. Don't even bother thinking about the parking garage. I'm not tripping at the goddamned finish line. We kill everything between us and there, room by room, battle by battle. No unnecessary risks, no BS. Understood?"

They all responded affirmatively, a look of grim determination settling onto their haggard, dirty faces. He was sure he looked exactly the same.

"Then let's do this."

They set to work. He stood guard by the door while the others searched the corpses, just to make sure none of the troopers wandered over and got the door open. A few minutes passed as the other three searched the corpses. When they were finished, Maria passed him some supplies: some more ammo for his assault rifle, a pair of grenades for his underslung tube, which he immediately loaded, and a fragmentation grenade.

It was going to have to be enough.

"Okay, everyone get ready. Maria, opposite me on the door, Laidlaw and Li, further back in the lab, behind that central workstation there," he said, pointing to a large, circular, and heavy desk that took up the center of the room.

They all got into place. He waited, double-checked that all of them were ready, including a weapons check, and then he found and thumbed the open button. Eric got things started off with a bang, leaning out, targeting the nearest shock trooper and firing off one of the grenades from his rifle's launcher. It was a perfect shot, nailing the big bastard right in the face and detonating it in a spray of alien blood and gore.

And then the battle was on.

Bullets and bolts of energy flew as the humans opened fire from their entrenched position, and the shock troopers scrambled to retaliate. Despite his initial luck and kill, the others turned out to be extremely resilient. They were fast, and dodged with a startling efficiency, and seemed to be able to take a lot of punishment. He managed to catch one in the open before it got to cover and pumped a dozen rounds into it. The creature staggered, losing a fair amount of blood, but then immediately turned around and returned fire.

Eric cried out as one of the shocks hit him right in the arm, sending an extremely painful jolt all up and down his musculature and nearly making him drop his rifle. He pulled back, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass, then leaned back around and opened fire again. Between these bastards and the damned alien slaves, he was going to wind up with nerve damage if he made it out of here alive. He burned through the rest of his magazine before managing to put down another one of the troopers, popping its huge eye and killing it.

The battle raged on for several minutes, going back and forth, with him rattling through several magazines, ducking and pulling back and returning fire. Another shock trooper went down. Then another, and then one of them attempted to rush their position and came damned close to killing Maria. As it was, the thing made it into the lab and opened fire right at her, punching her in her PCV several times with shocks. Eric had just finished reloading and managed to snap his rifle up and empty half the magazine into the thing's back, staggering it, and then Li put two rounds into its head from her Eagle and that killed it.

"You all right!?" he called as he leaned back around and opened fire again, trying to dissuade any of the others from doing the same.

"Just fine!" Maria managed as she slowly got back to her feet.

A few moments later, the last of the shock troopers fell, and all was silent. Which lasted for about five seconds before the far door across the next room opened up and a squad of Black Ops charged through.

"Oh come on!" Eric snapped.

Unwilling to deal with another sustained firefight so quickly, he aimed his rifle and fired off the second grenade from the launcher. It hit the center of the squad and blew them straight to hell. They mopped up the survivors in record time.

"Wow," Laidlaw said. "That was...wow."

"Let's go," Eric replied, reloading his rifle.

They moved into the next room and cleared it quickly, salvaging whatever ammo they could find from the corpses they'd made. Eric felt pretty in the zone right now, focused wholly on clearing the rooms, eliminating hostiles, and gathering resources. They cleared the room and moved on to the third section, finding the remnants of the battle the Black Ops had just come from. There were a lot of dead alien grunts and slaves.

The survivors silently spread out, first securing and then searching the area. Laidlaw moved between terminals, looking for anything worthwhile. Eric found himself hoping for some kind of awesome, experimental super-weapon. The rifle was nice, but something with a little more kick would be helpful against the legion of inter-dimension and government killers that no doubt stood between them and their (hopefully) eventual extraction point. The lab was taken up by more consoles and workstations, but the left wall was taken up by what definitely appeared to be a shooting gallery. There were lengthy stalls with targets at their ends, and some of them were pretty charred. He wondered what kind of weapon they might've been developing here.

He hoped it was some kind of laser beam.

Lasers were supposed to be the future of warfare. Or that's what all the sci-fi authors and game developers kept insisting, anyway. By the time he'd wrapped up his own search and checked the final room ahead, (it appeared empty), Laidlaw had something.

"Here, come here!" he called, sounding eager.

They gathered around the scientist, who was standing before a workstation next to a metal plate in the wall. It was a rectangle about two feet long by one tall and stuck into the wall at chest height. Abruptly, he stepped up to it and punched a few keys on the pad next to it. The plate disappeared up into the wall, revealing a small niche beyond.

And in that niche…

"Whoa, what is this?" Maria murmured.

Laidlaw reached in and carefully extracted the strange-looking gun. Eric studied it. The thing did genuinely look like something out of an insane '50s sci-fi serial. The core of it was an odd gunmetal gray construction that basically looked like a rectangular slab of technology stuck between a pair of metallic hexagons, vaguely resembling a dumbbell. Looking ridiculous, a metal rifle stock was attached to its rear. The main firing mechanism seemed to be a polished golden cylinder. It was attached to the dumbbell via a similar golden tube, with a pair of even thinner golden tubes that ran from its top back to a duo of small blue containers tucked behind one side of the dumbbell. Finally, there was a black hose that ran from the front of the dumbbell to the bottom of the golden cylinder. To top it all off, another golden tube, the gun barrel, sprouted from the front of the cylinder.

"This is, according to the document I managed to scrounge up, the Tau Cannon," Laidlaw replied.

"What the hell does it do?" Eric muttered.

"Apparently, it fires a 'focused particle beam'. I'm not entirely sure what that means, though," he admitted.

"So let's test it...who gets it?" Maria asked.

"Not me, I don't want it," Laidlaw said.

"Why? Is it dangerous?" Eric asked.

Laidlaw shrugged. "It _says_ it's been tested and works fine, but given our track record..."

"You two are better shots than I am," Li said.

Eric looked at Maria. She stared back at him. "Anyone got a coin?" she asked finally.

"You wanna _flip_ for it?" he asked.

"Can you think of a better way? Obviously we both want to use it."

"I've got a quarter," Laidlaw said, setting the thing gently back down in its metal cradle inside the niche, then fishing a faded quarter out of his pocket. "Call it," he said, then flicked it into the air with his thumb.

"Heads," Eric said.

"Tails then," Maria said.

They watched it flip rapidly through the air, up and then down, and Laidlaw caught it and slapped it onto the back of his other hand. After a second, he lifted his hand.

"Dammit!" Maria snapped.

Eric laughed. "Perfect. Let's see what we've got here." He grabbed the Tau Cannon back out of its niche and checked it over. There were a lot of lights and readouts built into the dumbbell part, but it felt surprisingly like a gun and fit with an odd comfort into his grasp. He stepped away from the group and took aim at a dead alien slave.

Pausing for just a second, he then squeezed the trigger.

There was a bright yellow flash and a needle-thin bolt of pure energy shot forth out of the front of the weapon and hit the corpse almost before he'd finished squeezing the trigger. There was a powerful spray of charred alien gore.

"Holy crap!" Maria cried.

"Very nice," Eric murmured. He checked it over again and was extremely glad to see that it actually had places for a strap. He recovered one from a discarded assault rifle and affixed it to his strange new weapon, then hung it around his neck. "This is so awesome."

"You're a lucky bastard," Maria said.

"Yep," he agreed, grinning broadly. "Now, is there anything else in here we need? Because I am very eager to get a move on."

"I don't think so," Laidlaw replied.

"Well, let's do one more sweep, then get out of here."

* * *

The next fifteen minutes went pretty smoothly, all things considered.

They finished clearing the weapons testing laboratory, found the elevator, and rode it up to the Security HQ without a problem. From there, they cleared out the derelict structure, which wasn't all that big. There were a handful of zombies and headcrabs milling around, and they managed to put them all down. There were no survivors around, no one holed up in any of the side rooms or closets or anywhere else someone might hide. But it became extremely obvious rather quickly that there was a lot of fighting going on outside.

The entire time they were searching, there was a constant staccato chatter of machine gun fire, punctuated by the occasional explosion, overlayed by the distant shouts of agony and hysterically screamed orders. And that didn't let up even a little as they worked their way through the structure. It was still happening even as they finally reached the main entrance to the building and began to really scope out the situation.

"Holy crap," Li whispered softly.

It was an out-all war out there. He saw three sides battling it out in the valley ahead of them. Black Ops had set up a command post outside one of the warehouse structures that lined the right side of the valley in the form of several canvas tents and sandbag walls. There were a few dozen of them currently fighting for their lives. The rest of the space was taken up by an army of shock troopers and pit drones battling it out with a legion of alien grunts and slaves. For good measure, there were a good few dozen zombies thrown into the mix, attacking everyone and everything they saw. It was all out, chaotic warfare out there.

"Maybe we should wait for it to die down a little," Laidlaw murmured.

"Maybe...although maybe we should use the cover of chaos to slip past...I can see the parking garage from here," Eric replied.

Sure enough, at the other end of the valley, which was roughly the length of a football field, there was the parking garage. Suddenly, a huge explosion from deeper in the valley briefly consumed his vision, and Eric winced.

"Okay, maybe we wait a little bit," he said.

They all agreed, and the quartet settled in for the duration. Eric sat watch while the other three moved back to a safer distance, just in case anything went wrong. As the minutes started to drag on, he found himself staring at individual skirmishes. There were a few dozen of them going on as all the various factions fought each other. It was completely surreal, in a way. Watching all those moving bodies, the various individual conflicts, combined with the fact that most of them were literal aliens. Or monsters. Inter-dimensional terrors.

Blood and bullets flew everywhere. The body count rose as aliens and humans alike were slaughtered. Eric lost track of time, ducking occasionally whenever a bullet came close to his position inside the front lobby of the HQ. Minutes passed, each one feeling like it was an eternity, and still the battle raged on. It seemed to take ages and eras, but finally the Black Ops position was overrun by some bad luck when a squad of four shock troopers managed to flank them as the survivors were distracted by an encroaching army of alien grunts, and then that was the end of the humans on the battlefield.

And then the two alien forces tore into each other with a renewed strength.

After another ten minutes, finally, at long last, Eric felt like enough of them had been killed off to make it worth leaving. He called the others up while keeping an eye on the battlefield. All that was left were a handful of alien grunts and slaves.

"Let's hit them now and get out of here," he said once the others had joined him. "Before anything else shows up."

They all agreed and readied themselves. As soon as everyone had performed a weapons check, they hit the front door and headed out into the valley. Eric didn't give the alien grunts a chance. He sighted the nearest one and cut loose with the Tau Cannon. It was far more impressive when firing on a live target. The needle-thin laser beam chopped right through its head and sent up a tremendous spray of pulpy alien gore. Eric let out a sound of pure marvel as he watched the body topple. He quickly shifted targets and fired again, punching a fist-sized hole through the broad chest of a second alien grunt and killing it instantly.

A knife through butter didn't even do this justice.

The others began picking off targets with their own weaponry, and within half a minute, the battlefield had, as far as he could tell, been completely cleared of opponents.

"All right, let's move!" he called.

They got to it, jogging quickly across the corpse-strewn battlefield. The valley walls rose to either side of them, and the harsh New Mexico sun bore down on them. The stink of spilled guts and blood from humans and aliens and gunsmoke all mixed together to create a potent reek that was difficult to breathe through.

Eric just wanted it to be over.

He could see the parking garage, growing closer. There didn't seem to be anyone or anything moving in it, and although it was impossible to tell for sure yet, he thought he could see at least a few shapes inside of it. Vehicles. He found himself desperately praying that they worked, and that no one would stop them, and they could escape.

About halfway there, not far from the Black Ops former encampment, it all fell apart.

Opposite the row of warehouses where Black Ops had set up shop was a door built into the side of the valley. It was a large door, the kind that parted down the middle to open, the kind you could drive a dump truck through. It had been firmly closed the whole way there, but abruptly, it began to open. And as it parted, he immediately caught sight of a fresh contingent of shock troopers.

"Get to cover!" he screamed as he shouldered the cannon and opened fire.

The first shock trooper took the laser beam right in its big hideous eye and its head popped like a balloon filled with blood and splattered the others around it. He began backing up as they returned fire, and the others opened fire along with him. He put down two more, then a third, then a fourth and a fifth. And then he hit the sandbags and fell over them backwards. Grunting as he fell on his ass, he caught sight of something to his immediate right.

It was a perfect solution for their problem.

He looked around. Li and Laidlaw had ended up farther to the right, both of them ducked down behind a line of sandbags. Maria was to his left, not far away. She was looking at her rifle and gritting her teeth.

"Maria!" he snapped. She looked over. "Here!" He tossed her the Tau Cannon.

She dropped her rifle and caught it easily, then grinned viciously and opened fire. He left her to it, then settled in behind the .50 caliber machine gun emplacement he'd spotted. Whoever had been using it had just managed to hook up a fresh box of ammo before dying. Eric took full advantage of this fact as he gripped the machine gun, took aim at the small army of shock troopers now pouring in through the mostly-open doors, and opened fire.

It made him feel like an angel of death.

Eric unloaded an unstoppable barrage of .50 caliber death directly into the advancing army of shock troopers and pit drones. He immediately stopped hearing anything but the gun that was rattling violently in his grasp. His whole body shook with the force of it. He hosed them all down, bringing the gun back and forth in wide, sweeping arcs. Honestly, he hardly had to aim at all. Even a single shot blew the bastards off their feet.

And there were a _lot_ of them.

Eric had no idea where they were coming from, or why they had chosen to come here, he only knew that he had to kill every last one of them or they were going to kill him and his friends. So he intended to keep firing until this thing ran out of ammo or they ran out of soldiers. In the end, it was a near thing. By the time the last one fell, the turret was almost totally depleted, and his arms had gone numb from the effort.

Slowly, he released his grip as he realized they were all dead, and no more were showing up. "Holy crap," he muttered, though he could hardly hear himself. Maria approached him. He glanced over at her. "What happened to the Cannon?" he asked, realizing she wasn't holding it any longer, nor was it slung.

"It crapped out on me," she replied. "Went totally dead."

"Great," he muttered.

"Can we go? Please?" Laidlaw asked.

"We really should get out of here before even _more_ of them show up," Li said.

Eric nodded. "Let's get the hell out of here."

They left the Black Ops encampment and then jogged across the final stretch of the corpse-littered valley. Eric tensed up, waiting for some new catastrophe to fall into their lap, some new personal apocalypse to smash into them, but they reached the garage without further incident. And they found an intact black SUV waiting for them.

There were even keys in the ignition.

Eric got into the driver's seat after they cleared the area and the car, and turned the key. The vehicle started up without a problem. The gas tank was nearly full.

"Holy crap," he muttered as the others got in.

"So, I mean...is this it? Are we really getting out of here?" Li asked quietly.

"Only one way to find out."

He pulled out of the parking spot and drove through the garage, to the opposite side, and out through the exit there. A long, lonely stretch of desert road awaited them. There were a few corpses out here, but no fighting, nothing alive.

A feeling of total unreality, like he was completely detached from his body, fell over Eric as he began driving down the road. It was a sense of utter dislocation, like some strange combination of being wildly dizzy and having a dream at the same time. None of this felt real. After everything that had happened, all the killing, the death, the murder, the blood and guts and dead bodies, the close calls and near misses…

To finally be here just didn't feel like it was actually happening.

Eric tightened his grip on the steering wheel and sped up. He glanced in the rearview, at the retreating structure of the parking garage.

"I think we made it," he said.

And that was when a tremendous flash of light burst into being, and the car rocked violently, and he heard the others screaming.

And then…

He felt like he was floating, and he screamed along with them.

And then-


	22. EPILOGUE

-he was somewhere else.

"Ah!" he cried, jerking backwards as he saw a man standing in front of him. The transition was exceptionally jarring, and for a second, he wondered if he had died. "Where am I?" he demanded, looking around.

He was in...a tram cart?

Like the one he'd ridden into work yesterday morning. Only, outside, beyond the windows, were..stars? _What_?

And the man standing before him…

"You," he said, instantly recognizing the strange man with the frozen blue eyes and the crisp suit and the briefcase. Even though he'd only seen him once, in passing, before all this had gone down, he immediately recognized the man.

"Apol-ogies, Missster Bishop," the man said, grinning an awkwardly manufactured and artificial grin. "For the ab-rupt transsssit...ion."

"What the hell?" Eric muttered. There was something tremendously disturbing about his speech patterns. It was halting and stilted and awkward. "Where _am_ I? What happened to Black Mesa? To the others? Where's Maria? Laidlaw? Li?"

The man sighed, and it was just as false as his smile. "Again, apo-lo...gies, Misster Bisshhh-op. I'm afraid that I...could on-ly sal...vage one of you. I have been wat-ching you, today, Misssster Bishop. You have performed...hmm...ad-mir-ably. Although I'm af-raid I cannot offer you...a job...per say...I am afraid that, ah, I can at least put you on...shhhall we say...ice? Hmm, yes. You're time-will come again...farewell for-now, Mister Bishhhhop."

" _What!?_ " Eric cried. "What the hell are you talking about!?"

The man in the suit brushed an invisible speck from his sleeve. "I'm af-raid that thissss is all the, time, I have. Goodnight."

Eric felt an overwhelming sense of terror and rage, having no idea what in the hell was happening. Even after everything that had happened to him, this was just... _what was this_!? This felt like his mind had completely snapped.

Enraged, he began to step forward, intending to _force_ some answers out of this strange speaking bastard, but he was frozen.

He suddenly realized that he couldn't move an inch.

And then, abruptly, there was only darkness.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Well, it's done! I've finally finished this story!

I set out to begin writing this fan fiction almost fifteen years ago now, ever since I at last got my hands on a copy of HλLF-LIFE for the PS2 in 2004 and immediately fell in love with the world. Although it didn't turn out exactly like I'd hoped (nothing does), I am more or less satisfied with how this ended up. Honestly, at this point, I'm more looking forward to writing about Eric's times in the world created by the following Half-Life games. But I couldn't get there until I got his origin story out of the way.

Admittedly, I was disappointed with the poor reception this story received. I honestly thought there were more people who were still into the original Half-Life game. Then again, it's been a LONG time since its release. And, come to think of it, it's been a LONG time even since the latest entry, let alone its foundation. So I guess that's fair. Despite that, I am glad that I wrote it. And some people did end up reading it, some even pretty much all the way through. So at least there were some people who liked it.

Honestly, it made me have to reconsider my entire view of writing fan fiction. I can't make any money from writing fan fiction, and writing is what I do for a living. So writing fan fiction is entirely a hobby. One that I still enjoy greatly, even after fifteen years of doing it almost consistently. There are a few reasons that I write, and one of them has almost always been: to be read. I didn't quite realize just how important that had become to me until I started writing this story. For awhile it was pretty depressing, but ultimately it made me realize that I like and am very interested in writing for some pretty obscure games.

So I'd better get used to not having much of a reception in some cases. And it's not even like Half-Life is obscure, I guess it's just not relevant anymore. But I know there are at least SOME people out there who also like the games I'll eventually end up writing for, games whose sections are no doubt starved for content. (DOOM is a great example of this, I'm current about 237,000 words into what might end up being a 6-700,000 word fan fic over there.) Hell, I want to write for Red Faction, like full-on novels, and no one has, as of writing this, written or even updated in that section since August 2015! So I'd like to say this: To those of you who read the work, thank you. I hope you enjoyed it. To those of you who reviewed, a _large_ thank you! It is deeply appreciated. Those reviews are like oxygen to a drowning person.

In closing: **Eric Bishop will return in BISHOP'S LAMENT.**


End file.
